E re nata
by Chaed
Summary: AU, preMansion. Embarking on a diplomatic trip to Rockfort Island Albert Wesker and Annette Birkin quickly learn that the family name is holy and the rules of the game are made by young Alfred Ashford.
1. Chapter I

**e re nata  
**_as circumsta__nces dictate_

**_by_: notanotherfanficauthor & Chaed**  
**_Rating_: M**  
**_Disclaimer_: If we owned RE, it would be like this and not like Capcom makes it.**

**_A/N:_ This story is based on a roleplay featuring Annette Birkin (notanotherfanficwriter) and Albert Wesker (Chaed). This is survival horror at its finest and lives up to its rating. You have been warned.**

**07/04/10: The first four chapters will be re-uploaded within the course of a week, edited and tweaked for better reading, then updates follow at weekly intervalls.**

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Chapter I

The steady whirring of the helicopter blades was the only sound to break the uncomfortable silence as Wesker focused his attention resolutely on a metal rivet beside his boot. The passenger area of the small chopper was cramped, but perfectly comfortable. Only the frequent sighs and fidgeting beside him told him that his companion for the journey didn't share that view.

Beside him Annette Birkin sat chewing her lip, no doubt still fretting over the prospect of leaving her husband and daughter alone. She laced and unlaced her fingers and stared out of the window, sporting dark circles under her eyes that could rival even her husband's.

While he rarely questioned Spencer's orders, Wesker couldn't help but wonder why Umbrella couldn't have sent someone, _anyone_ else instead of them. Mission aside, he wasn't particularly enthralled with the prospect of enduring Annette's constant insecurities for three days.

"Are you sure," she asked, as if on cue, for what must have been the fourth time that hour. "That they'll be alright?"

"They'll be fine," he assured, although he could very well imagine that this might not be the case. Wesker had some very bad memories of William's propensity towards disaster. One incident with a microwave stood out as particularly spectacular.

"Yes… it's just… well, you know what he's like."

Oh yes, he knew. Wesker was well aware of what William was like and even if he hadn't been, one hour into a helicopter journey with Annette Birkin wouldn't have left much room for doubt. He found himself recalling William's tempestuous history with the Ashford family, the bitterness between him and Alexia, and all the trantrums and bad blood on both sides. William's behaviour had essentially cut a massive divide between the Ashfords and Raccoon City and been a disaster for internal relations.

So with the feud only just starting to simmer down, he couldn't help but question the wisdom of the idea of forcing him to take along William's wife to conduct diplomatic relations with Alfred Ashford. If he hadn't known better, he might have thought this was someone's idea of a poor taste joke.

Still, he knew that Annette could be charming when she put her mind to it, and this may have influenced Spencer's rationale. Perhaps he was looking to repair bridges, to salvage what was left of his hold on Rockfort, and sending Annette might be considered a gesture of good faith.

But he felt certain things wouldn't be that simple. From what he was aware, Alfred's spending had been getting more and more out of hand, and there had been no contributions from the Ashford side of the company since Alexia's unfortunate demise. Alfred was a spoiled brat, and it was up to him and Annette, as ambassadors, to coerce him into seeing eye to eye with company policy.

"How is that new project of yours faring?" he asked leisurely. „I can hardly catch a glimpse of William lately."

With a smile and a shrug, Annette gestured vaguely. "Oh, you know William, he's... the same as always. Completely absorbed in his work. It's early days. You know these things take years, but if this goes well it should completely eclipse anything Marcus ever managed with Progenitor."

"Still, you should try to get him out of that lab room more often," he suggested, referring to William. "Otherwise he'll forget how the world looks outside his four little walls."

Annette laughed, grinning broadly. "After what he discovered in the Trevor girl, these days I'm lucky if I can get him to eat properly, let alone take a break. I think I'd be fighting a losing battle if I was to try and turn Will into a socially adjusted human being. The fact that he looked up from his research long enough to marry me was probably a miracle in itself."

There was a note of satisfaction in her voice. While Wesker could hardly understand anyone wanting to marry William, he could at least concede that getting a ring on his finger had probably been something of a collosal effort. He simply nodded, with a hint of a smile.

"Anyway," she continued, brightly. "How are things with you? It's been a while since we've caught up."

"I can't complain," he answered. "The decision to leave the research division has proven to be the correct one. A new spark to an old flame, if you want to put it that way."

"You were good at what you did, but I always did get the impression you were never the type for locking yourself away indefinitely. I think that takes a special kind of madness," she suggested, half teasingly.

"I never could muster the kind of patience William held for all his projects. It is better this way."

"I think that's the first time I've ever heard someone use the words 'William' and 'patience' in the same sentence," she remarked, wrinkling her nose. "Still, I hope for your sake it'll be mostly smooth sailing, traffic tickets and paperwork."

"Spencer still finds ways to keep me occupied. But of course, I didn't ask for the transfer to change a lab full of paperwork to an office of the same kind." Which, actually, was only half true. He had reached a point where he would have chosen everything above research, even if it had meant leaving Umbrella completely. But of course, that was wishful thinking. Nobody simply left. Marcus was enough of a reminder for that.

"I'm looking forward to our transfer out of Arkley," Annette pondered aloud. "It'll be nice to be near civilization again."

"I heard only good things about the Raccoon Lab. I've not been there myself since its recent opening, but Spencer seems to have equipped it with only the best there is. And a change of scenery is always nice. William has been offered the Head Researcher position there, hasn't he?"

"Of course," she said, her voice shining with pride. „I have to say I'm delighted. The Spencer Estate might be well equipped, but it's no place to bring up a child. Before this offer came up, I was thinking I'd have to send Sherry away to boarding school."

Wesker was privately of the opinion that the kindest thing the Birkins could do for their child would be to do just that, but kept that thought to himself. Raising a family in the midst of bioweapons research was not what he considered to be a good idea, by any stretch of the imagination. But it did not seem wise to voice this to Annette, who seemed to be full of determination that she would be able to hold down a normal domestic life in conjunction with her job. So he simply nodded and let the conversation lull into a natural silence.

With twenty minutes to land, something occurred to him and he spoke again. "Spencer also ordered a check-up on the labs," he said. "He briefly mentioned it before I left."

"Are you joking?" Annette rolled her eyes and sighed petulantly, slumping back in her seat. "I thought drinking tea with the kid and trying not to call him a nutcase was going to be tedious enough. I highly doubt we'll find anything remotely useful or interesting, but from what I hear about Ashford and his paranoia and I doubt even more that he's going to be happy with a Birkin snooping around his research. Or lack thereof."

He was inclined to agree with her. While he may not have shared William's bitterness, he still didn't like the Ashford family. Certainly Alfred was not of the same brilliance as his sister, but even Alexia's deranged brother had enough intelligence to warrant being awarded his own facility and was undoubtedly still dangerous in some way or other.

"I have it in written form, if he objects. I dont intend more than a quick round of the estate. Spencer didn't specify, so we'll keep it short for the sake of everyone."

It was the preferable option, if only the sake of his own sanity. The tour could be as short as it wanted to, and there would still be some kind of inevitable tensions on the Bikrin-Ashford topic. Alfred wouldn't miss the chance, and Annette wouldn't simply swallow it.

"If he refuses written orders, we can simply leave, report back to Spencer and let him sort it out. As interested as I am in genetics, I don't particularly want to study the effects of inbreeding for any longer than I have to. From what I hear, Alfred has been simply freeloading on his family name and playing soldier in his spare time."

She sneered contemptuously, but there was a note of hopefulness in her voice that made Wesker think that perhaps this was exactly what she wanted. If she returned with news that Rockfort was nothing more than a failure, it would put her husband in a distinctly good frame of mind for quite some time to come. Even with Alexia dead, he was still forever looking for some way to get one-up on the Ashfords.

A sudden lurch within the cabin signaled to them that the helicopter was making its descent. Wesker glanced out of the window as the sea became land and they approached Rockfort Island. He noted the prison complex with pursed lips, a foreboding tribute to the teenage boy's famous penchant for sadism. But the most obvious fixture was the main residence, a fairytale mansion which presided over the base, the whimsy of the architecture casting stark contrasts against the brutally militant structures surrounding it.

It was time to see what Alfred had been up to in all the years since his sister's death.


	2. Chapter II

Chapter II

After disembarking from the helicopter, Annette was surprised to find Alfred Ashford waiting for them in person. A slender young man of around eighteen, he was clad in what she could only describe as frankly ridiculous attire. It seemed as though it would be more at home in a museum than in the wardrobe of a facility head. He looked like a toy soldier in his blood red military jacket, obnoxiously decorated with gold piping and epaulets. He was strikingly identical to his late sister, with the same flaxen hair and sharp, aristocratic bone structure. There was a bored sneer fixed upon his unsettlingly feminine features.

"Welcome to Rockford Island," he greeted them, not bothering to hide his disfavour for their visit. He came to shake first Annette's and then Wesker's hand.

Wesker returned the welcoming with a simple nod. "If you don't mind, Mr Ashford," he said. "We can skip the formalities and get down to business. Both Mrs Birkin and I have a busy schedule."

Annette flashed the boy her most charming smile, but it seemed to her that Alfred Ashford was slowly turning the same colour as his uniform. She caught him looking away and clenching his fists petulantly, and she arched an eyebrow caustically at Wesker when he wasn't looking.

She waited for him to respond in kind, display some semblance of professionalism, but he simply stared at them both with the air of a spoiled child. At first it seemed that Alfred didn't know what to say, but when he did, his voice lost all trace of hospitality.

"Fine. Follow me."

She couldn't help the instant dislike she'd taken to the boy, a dislike which, in all honesty, had been preconceived. But he'd really done nothing so far to dissuade her from the poor opinion she held of the Ashford name.

They followed him into a large drawing room, and Alfred gestured to the men beside him. "Leave us," he ordered disdainfully in his apparently customary whine. "You may wait outside."

Annette took note of the holstered guns the men were carrying. They were here under a white flag, so the fact that the men were conspicuously armed was utterly rude on Ashford's part. She could understand security measures in the laboratories, but right now this was not applicable. She felt some disdain for such a pathetic attempt to intimidate them.

She cleared her throat pointedly. "Shall we begin with a look at the records of expenditure for Rockfort island, Mr Ashford?"

"What are you talking about?!" Alfred demanded shrilly. "Such expenditures are necessary. How else could we guarantee the safety of this facility?"

"Mr Ashford," Annette pointed out in a slow and even voice. "This is a secluded island in the middle of nowhere. You have approximately one tenth of the test subjects that we have at Arkley, and yet you still felt the need to purchase your own private fighter jet out of company expenses. May I be frank?"

The look on Alfred's face indicated that she should be anything but frank, but she ignored it and pressed on bluntly. "I'm sorry to say this, but it has become something of a concern within Umbrella that perhaps you are using company resources for your own private amusement. And Mr Spencer feels that this is not acceptable."

The Ashford boy spluttered, his eyes starting to bulge in their sockets.

"How DARE you...?"

Annette remained unfazed. "Spencer, along with the board of directors, feel that for a facility of such low productivity, your expenditure is unwarranted. And with the imminent opening of my husband's new facility in Raccoon City, the company cannot afford to siphon off such large amounts of money without seeing any results." She couldn't resist the last remark, couldn't resist that little mention of her _own_ family's superiority, but she immediately regretted it as she saw the look on their host's face.

Alfred opened his mouth to retort, but Wesker cut him off before he could utter a word. "What Mrs Birkin wanted to say," he began, glancing reproachfully at Annette. "Is that Umbrella fails to understand the reason for some of your... acquisitions. In turn, Spencer would like to know why exactly you deem it necessary to spend so many resources on these matters."

He leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs. "If you would lead us around the estate and explain in detail your reasoning for a number of items, we might come to a conclusion that satisfies both sides. Mr Spencer has given me a list of arguable subjects. You might want to take a look." He opened his briefcase, retrieving a document and holding it out to Alfred.

"Well, Dr Wesker," the Ashford heir began slowly as he took the paper. "For a start, this is more of a military facility than a research one, and Spencer damn well knows that! So he can stop all this nonsense about 'productivity' and be grateful for the training we give to UBCS! As for my residences, well what does he expect? I am an Ashford, I cannot be expected to live in squalor!

And my submarine and private subterranean airport are not lavish expenditures, they are of the utmost necessity! You know fine well that I'm still responsible in part for overseeing the Antarctic facility, how am I supposed to travel there otherwise?" His voice became shrill. "And what does he mean that I'm executing too many prisoners? If he's so money conscious, then why on earth does he want to waste resources on keeping them alive?!"

Annette was trying not to laugh, sneer, or both, and was desperately hoping that it didn't show. "Mr Ashford," she pointed out levelly, as though talking to a child. "If Umbrella didn't want its prisoners kept alive, UBCS would simply shoot them on sight, rather than ship them off here. That's why we have a prison in the first place, to keep them alive."

Alfred sent Annette a glare that might have silenced many a person, but refrained from countering the verbal attack. He gave the paper a last depreciative look before slapping it back into Wesker's hand.

"Spencer won't get away with this! You can't simply barge in and tell me that the way Rockfort was managed for years needs to be changed! This is an insult to the Ashford family name!"

Wesker put the document back into the briefcase, closed it and stood up from his chair, seemingly unimpressed by the Ashford's outburst. In a relatively calm tone he said, "Perhaps you would like to lead us around the facility, so we can appraise the current situation ourselves."

Alfred crossed his arms over his chest.

"You have no right to be here…" he muttered to himself, but still stood up. Annette gave Wesker an appraising look. He had an impressive ability to impose his authority on people, without so much as raising his voice. Alfred Ashford would have done well to take a few notes, instead of throwing tantrums.

"Follow me," Alfred said sulkily. "But don't you dare touch _anything!_"

As they followed him out of the room to where the guards were waiting, Annette rubbed her temples tiredly. Alfred's voice was starting to give her a headache. In fact, the whole situation was proving to be even more tedious than she'd anticipated. As they walked in stony silence down the corridor, she shot Wesker a sideways glance and winced.

The tour was drawn out and asinine and Alfred's justifications for his spending were utterly inane. By the time they got to the labs, Wesker's lips had turned into a thin line, and it was obvious that the last reserves of his patience were empty. He was walking beside Annette, refraining from any kind of comment.

Alfred, however, was either oblivious to their displeasure, or simply did not care. "Come on," he announced. "Now you can witness what new levels our research has reached."

Annette's headache had exploded into a full blown migraine. Someone handed them lab coats, and she took hers with a barely restrained growl. Alfred's 'research' seemed to consist mainly of him infecting people he didn't like with the t-virus, until he got bored and had them shot or dismembered. Picking up a folder and glancing through some extremely poorly kept notes, she hung back and leaned in closer to Wesker.

"Albert," she hissed under her breath. "Nazi Germany produced more useful research data than this, and did it with half the amount of torture. Clearly, we're wasting our time here. What's say we just smile, nod, get the Hell out of here tomorrow and take this up with Spencer?"

Wesker turned his attention away from the experiment he was watching through heavy glass windows. Regarding the infection process of a human carrier for another moment, Wesker turned to Alfred, who was standing some distance away from them.

"We've seen enough," he told him bluntly.

Alfred gave him a nasty little smirk. "Oh, I don't think that you have, but far be it from me to argue with one of Lord Spencer's ambassadors..."

Dropping the file in her hands on the desk as though it was something disgusting, Annette pursed her lips. "I would be grateful if you would have someone show us to our rooms."

Alfred's giggle stopped abruptly. With the flick of his hand he ordered someone to his side, muttering something that she didn't quite catch. The servant nodded, then turned to them.

"Please, follow me."

At the exit they were asked to hand over the lab coats again and Annette watched Wesker push his into a young assistant's hands with far more force than needed.

Once they were out of Alfred's range, he sighed. "This entire facility should be closed down."

Annette ran a hand through her hair and glanced at the servant, who hadn't seemed to hear. Keeping her voice low, she nodded in assent.

"It's swallowing money, producing nothing and has a complete madman at the helm. I know Umbrella facilities are notorious for being...whimsical..." she mused aloud, thinking of some of the more interesting furnishings in the Spencer mansion. "...but this is just ridiculous. At least Arklay has a more than high enough output to justify its expenditure."

Wesker shrugged, apparently not in the mood to question Umbrella's taste for interior design. "Mr Spencer will initiate the necessary measures. Ashford or not, even Alfred has to bow to the rules."

The servant stopped in front of them, waiting patiently until they finished their hushed conversation.

"Your rooms are just up ahead, the two adjacent ones here on the left. I will make sure that dinner is brought to you immediately. Should you have any wishes, please feel free to call on me or any of the others." He bowed slightly, then hurried off.

Wesker waited until his echoing steps disappeared completely, then turned back to Annette. "We can leave tomorrow at first hour. I will organize our transport."

She nodded gratefully, glad that something as important as their return journey was not to be left in the hands of a delusional teenager.

"That sounds like the first sensible thing I've heard all day," she said with a smile.

In the back of her head, it occurred to her that she should have asked if there was a telephone in her room. She was itching to check on William and Sherry, and being in these grotesquely palatial surroundings, a stones throw away from the myriad of prison cells and torture chambers, made her feel distinctly uneasy.

"Well, then," Wesker said curtly. "Have a good night."

Annette entered her room, closing the door behind her and locking it firmly. She felt certain that she wouldn't have a comfortable night in this place. As with everything owned by Umbrella, the room was utterly pompous and a portrait of one of the Ashford patriarchs hung from the wall. At least it wasn't Alfred staring down at her from the canvas. There was no telephone in her room, much to her annoyance, and so she simply collapsed onto the bed.

After dinner, she drifted off into a fitful sleep, feeling distinctly glad that they would be leaving first thing in the morning. It had been a complete waste of her time from start to finish.

She was almost relieved when she was jolted awake by what she assumed at first to be her alarm clock, sitting up and fumbling for the clock she usually kept beside her bed. It took her a few seconds to realise that there was no clock; the ear splitting sound continued at full volume, and she soon readjusted her mind to realise there was a siren blaring. Bleary eyed, she blinked at her watch, which told her it had just gone three in the morning.

What the Hell...?

Leaping out of bed and hastily pulling on a pair of jeans and a vest top, she slipped into her shoes and went to the door, going through the motions of the Arkley fire drill. But in the time it took for her to do this, she suddenly stopped and realised where she was.

"Fuck!" she exclaimed, a rise of panic forming in her chest. Hoping it was a false alarm, she slipped out of her room into the deserted corridor and began to bang loudly on Wesker's door.


	3. Chapter III

Chapter III

Wesker was instantly awake when the noise filled his ears, sitting up straight. It was an alarm, but at this point it could mean anything from a fire drill to an all-out viral contamination. He quickly dressed and was about to close the buttons on his shirt when someone banged against the door relentlessly.

Throwing it open, he found himself facing Annette Birkin. The look on her face told him that she was at least equally confused. He simply moved aside so she could enter, briefly craning his neck to risk a glance outside the door, but the hallways were empty despite the blaring alarms.

Annette sat down on the bed pushing her hair out of her eyes.

"Did Alfred mention anything to you about a fire drill?" she yelled at the top of her voice over the sirens. Standing up, she began to pace the room anxiously, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering. There was a night chill which seemed to pervade the Ashford residence.

"I don't know what's going on..." she shouted. "But please tell me you've brought your gun?"

Wesker only understood the words 'fire drill' and 'gun', but her inquiry was more than clear. He shook his head and moved over to the chair he had left his briefcase on. Opening it, he took out the various documents and carelessly dropped them to the floor, retrieving a standard Beretta 92FS and the clip that belonged to it.

"This is only a precaution," he assured Annette. He took the suit from the day before and pulled it on, motioning her to follow him. "Come on, let's see what this is all about."

They paced the hallways for a little while, until the sound of heavy footfall caught their attention. Noticing a solitary staff member running down the corridor, Wesker reached out and grabbed the man by the arm with a demanding look. Before either of them spoke the expression of sheer panic on the servant's face made things all too clear. He said something to them which he didn't catch over the noise, but Wesker could well enough lipread the word 'outbreak'.

The servant jerked free of his grip and was gone around the next corner. Wesker glanced at Annette, who had turned chalk white and seemed to be frozen in fear. He took hold of her wrist, hopefully janking her free of her momentary shock. When she turned to look at him he tried his best to sound calm, despite the severity of the situation.

"This doesn't have to mean anything," he said, though he knew better. "We'll find Ashford and request immediate evacuation from the island. The outbreak won't spread so fast. You've seen the security precautions. They can keep it at bay. We can avoid it."

"You're right," she said, but the words came with hesitation. "Alfred will want to get the Hell out as soon as possible, and he _has_ to take us with him."

"Right now, we need to get outside," he said. "Whatever form of evacuation they use, it won't take place inside. Follow me. I think I remember the way."

Wesker tried to recall the projects they had observed in the labs the day before. Mostly only human carriers, but he could remember very clearly that there had been a primitive form of Hunter, and Alfred had mentioned a creature called a 'bandersnatch'. Hopefully none of the more dangerous BOWs had escaped.

Suddenly they both stopped dead as an abrupt and unsettling silence replaced the ear splitting noise of the alarm. An eerie quiet settled in the corridor before it was replaced by a sound that caused a shiver to run down Wesker's back and he instinctively reached for the gun under his suit.

A moan.

With Annette standing behind him, still as a mouse, he listened, watched and waited as the moan became accompanied by a shuffle and then, slowly and sickeningly, the figure of a man came into view. The air was filled with the sweet and rotten stench of decomposing flesh and he soon found himself staring at a mess of greyish skin and lifeless eyes.

Its clothes were tattered and the skin in an advanced state of decay. It had to be one of the experiments. Which was a bad thing. He knew that the labs were not far from here, but the sole fact that it had already crossed this distance could only mean one thing: there had been no one to stop it.

The carrier neared them, swaying from side to side, as if it was hard to keep balance. Its milky eyes were fixed on them. Then, another moan. The thing inched closer until it was only a few feet away. Before it could take another step it fell to the floor, unmoving. He shot it in the head, parts of its skull staining the expensive carpet.

That meant thirteen shots left. If the infection had truly spread so far then it was barely enough to get them out of the residence.

"How could this have happened?" Annette blurted out. "How on earth did that thing make it into the main residences?" Her earlier panic had given way to rage and clenching her fists, she hissed under her breath. "Who the Hell has a lab full of carriers, and no 24 hour guard on standby? Let's hope Ashford's evacuation procedure is better than his containment one!"

Not bothering to return the gun to its holster Wesker took a step towards the corpse. "Perhaps there was a guard," he mused, while regarding the carrier. "But one certainly wasn't enough."

As if things weren't bad enough, the moment they reached the next corner the lights went out. Annette's sudden grip on his arm was one of the first sensations he felt after their surroundings were dipped into darkness. Then he heard his own breathing and after a moment started to register hazy silhouettes in the shadows. Beside him Annette cursed.

"I'm going to start walking now," he said, and the words seemed so loud as if he had shouted them. He felt for the wall with the hand he held the gun with. The other was still tightly clutched by Annette and he resisted the urge to shake her off.

He inched backwards, feeling the cold wall against his back, squinting in the darkness. Whenever he thought he could make out figures they seemed to vanish and he found it difficult to discern what was real from the tricks that the darkness played on his vision.

As if reading his mind Annette whispered anxiously beside him, her voice shaking, "We can't see them, Albert...but they'll still be able to smell us."

At least for now there was silence, no moaning or shuffling to indicate an immediate danger. But if the infection had truly spread so far, it would only be a matter of time.

"They're slow," he said curtly. "They won't get us. We can hear them. They don't know how to use the silence to their advantage."

But how many could he shoot before the gun clicked empty? Thirteen. Thirteen at best, if every bullet killed. And then? Walk around them, avoid them?

The hand he kept trailing along the wall suddenly reached into nothingness. Annette bumped into him when he stopped walking. They'd just reached an intersection. Just barely, he could recognize it. Three ways. Left, right, straight.

"The way. Can you remember the way?"

"I'm not sure... but I'd guess that if we take the middle one, we've got the best chance of ending up at the main hallway."

They continued walking blindly, Wesker using the wall for guidance as Annette occasionally stumbled behind him. His eyes had done little to adjust to the pitch black surroundings and the only senses he had to go on was the feeling of smooth wallpaper beneath his fingertips and the sound of their breathing. They rounded another corner and he stopped, squinting suddenly and froze again.

The unmistakable smell of death pervaded the air. A moment later he heard the tell-tale shuffling, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Soon a chorus of moans joined in, indicating the presence of multiple carries. Two? Three? How many, it was hard to tell.

Wesker took a step back, forcing Annette to do the same. His gun was pointed ahead, but he couldn't even see its muzzle in the blackness. There was a stumbling sound, an agonized groan. He pressed against the wall. It wasn't close enough yet. He could permit himself only one bullet. His finger rested on the trigger, unmoving.

The sounds of the undead seemed to be circling around them and it was impossible to tell which direction they were coming from. He could only wait silently, slowly scanning the darkness for some sign of a carrier, staring at the shapes which moved in and out of his vision.

And then, suddenly to his right at the opening of one of the corridors, he heard a shamble and snapped his head round. Annette was face to face with the open mouth and dripping saliva of one of Alfred's now deceased servants.

With a choked off scream, she ducked low against the wall, crouching on the floor and covering her head with her hands.

In the illumination of the following gunfire, Wesker could see the details of a face. Lips, eyes and a missing nose. The head was gone a moment later. He felt blood splash on his clothes and exposed skin and took a hurried step backwards, out of the thing's reach.

- just to himself right in the clutches of a second one that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere. It grabbed at him from behind, and even though he couldn't see the carrier, he could very well imagine that its decaying face was not far from his own.

Wesker pulled the trigger, but the shot went wide. In an attempt to free himself from its grip, he elbowed it into what he thought was the head and it reluctantly let go. That was enough so he could turn around and now, at point blank, down the attacker.

As the silence returned again, he could hear his own shaky breathing. "Annette?"

She hauled herself to her feet, shaking violently. "I'm fine," she whispered hoarsely. "We need to keep moving."

"Come on," he said. He made a mental note that they only had ten bullets left. God forbid that they encounter one of the more dangerous BOWs.

Suddenly, the auxiliary lighting tunked the hallway in a green haze. Wesker blinked, his eyes hurting at the sudden light. Once his sight readjusted, he sought out Annette. There were a few splotches of blood on her clothing, but apart from the paleness of her skin she seemed to be fine. He guessed that he couldn't look much better. But at least now they could see their enemies again.

"Oh thank God," Annette breathed, looking up at him. "Are you ok?" she enquired as they began walking in the direction which hopefully lead to the main entrance, "No bites, scratches, anything like that?"

"No such thing. Perhaps a bruise, but likely not even that."

They walked on in silence, their footfall mercifully the only sound accompanying their breathing. Their guesswork had proved right and they found themselves within a short distance of the main door. Wesker kept his weapon drawn, and Annette's posture was tense and fearful, but the ornate hallway held nothing but lifeless statues.

As they approached the door, Wesker strained his ears to listen for any potential danger on the other side, but the massive iron structure blocked out all sound from outside and there was nothing else for it.

Cautiously, he pushed the door open.

* * *

**Welcome to the world of survival horror.**


	4. Chapter IV

Chapter IV

Outside it was still dark, the only light provided being that of the moon and stars. But that was enough to shed light on the situation. It was a mess. Not necessarily caused by the escaped subjects, but rather by the mass panic that must have taken place afterwards.

"We need to find that plane, before that little fucking weasel takes off and leaves us stranded here," Annette announced with a growl, feeling glad for the first time in their visit that Alfred's extravagences had stretched to a private jet.

She looked around warily. There was only one carrier. At least the outbreak seemed to be small scale. If they were lucky they could be at the subterranian airport within fifteen minutes. With a renewed sense of purpose now that she had a vague plan, she began to walk determinedly towards what she hoped would be their imminent safety.

Something caught her attention though, a few distant shapes on the horizon, and she froze. The concrete outside was littered with bodies, and as if in concert a low groan began to fill the air, slowly joined by other insensible noises as the corpses began to reanimate. Inching back towards Wesker, she watched in horror as one after the other the dead workers began to lurch to their feet, deep, hungry growls chorusing around them.

It would be impossible for Wesker to take them all down. She didn't even want to count them, but there were at least twenty.

"Back," Wesker ordered, as the corpses drew closer. "We need to find another way."

Annette started to stumble backwards, bracing herself to run at any moment. She didn't know how much ammunition Wesker's gun held, but she did know enough to realise that staying and fighting would be suicide.

"We can get to the airport through the labs," she suggested. "God knows what's in there...but it might be our only option."

And they had to think fast, because any split second they would be running for their lives. It was the last place in the world she wanted to go, but going back to the residences would get them nowhere, and out in the open they were hopelessly outnumbered. Perhaps in the darkness of the research facility's complex corridors they might at least have the advantage of stealth.

"At least we know they're open," she said, speaking quickly, keeping her voice low and tensing her whole form. "If we go anywhere else, we risk coming up against a dead end."

Wesker looked at her with a frown and it didn't take a genius to see that he wasn't exactly thrilled with her proposal. "The labs will be our death, Annette. We can't take on a real BOW. You know that. It will tear us apart with ease." He shook his head repeatedly, glancing in turns at the undead mass and the way they had come from.

He was right, of course. It was little better than complete suicide, but at that moment they were stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea.

"Probable death is better than certain death," she said. Hearing herself say those words aloud made her stomach lurch and for an interminable moment they both stood frozen in the face of the hoard of carriers.

"Alright," Wesker said eventually, although he did not sound convinced. "Alright. Hurry."

She broke into a run, trying to concentrate only on reaching the entrance to the laboratory. As her feet pounded on the asphalt she swerved and dodged, pulling away from the cold hands that reached out towards her from behind every corner. Gathering speed as adrenaline began to kick in, she searched for Wesker every few seconds out of the corner of her eye.

"There!" she yelled breathlessly, the door in sight as more and more of the undead became alerted to their presence and began to congregate in throngs.

Wesker picked up speed, passed her and forced the double doors open. As soon as Annette was through, he leapt inside and the doors fell shut behind them. Not a moment later there was banging against the metal, accompanied by hungry moans. She tried to ignore them as best she could as she attempted to clear her mind.

In between shallow breaths she took in their new surroundings. The lights in the labs were on and apart from turned over chairs and equipment lying on the floor there was no sign of infection. But no sign of life either. Once more, they were alone.

Wesker watched Annette as she caught her breath. "There's no way back now," he said. "Stay close to me. We need to be very careful now."

"We...we need to barricade these doors," she stammered, as the reality of his words sunk in and she started to feel desperately, horribly claustrophobic. The pitiful laboratory facility she had laughed at earlier in the day now seemed like an insurmountable labyrinth full of waiting horrors.

She wished she'd paid more attention to the tour, wished she could recall the exact layout, wished that instead of rolling her eyes and ignoring the route they were taking, she'd committed to memory the details which might save their life now.

"There's nothing heavy enough we can use," Wesker said. "It's a waste of time. Come on; we shouldn't stay here too long."

He was right. If they were far enough away the carriers might stop their assault on the door. Once the initial smell was gone, their want to enter the laboratory whould vanish too.

"We should find the control room," Wesker suggested.

Annette nodded grimly, "You're right. At the very least, we might find a map there, maybe plan our escape."

They began to walk in tense silence and she trode carefully, trying to listen out as best she could for any possible threats. But the place seemed silent, eerily devoid of life. As they moved past an open door, she thought she caught a glimpse of something glinting in the cold clinical strip lights.

"Wait!" she hissed, keeping her voice low. "In there..."

In one of the locker rooms, in a broken cabinet was what looked like some kind of semi-automatic weapon.

Wesker stopped at her words, following her gaze. He exchanged another look with her, then entered, striding towards the locker in determination. He checked the trigger and safety with a hopeful expression, but his face fell as he reached for the magazine.

"It's empty."

Rushing over, she inspected the weapon. "No, it can't be..." she shook her head, unwilling to believe their bad luck so far. "There must be some ammo around here somewhere."

She began opening whatever lockers were unsecured, rummaging through the personal items of the lab staff. So absorbed was she in her task, that she failed to notice the figure looming in the doorway, casting a hulking shadow across the room.

"Annette…"

Wesker's words caused her to look up sharply, just in time for his voice to be cut off by a low snarl from the doorway. Annette looked up slowly and all at once took in the sight of the hideous thing in front of them.

The figure blocking the exit was one of Alfred's personal creations, what she vaguely remembered as a bandersnatch. One arm was no more than a pitiful stump, but the other was strong, muscular, and probably big enough to crush human bone. It gave them a feral growl and she froze in utter terror. She could hear the sound of someone screaming filling her ears and it stopped abruptly when she realised that the noise was coming from her own mouth.

Wesker slowly reached for the gun, just as Annette looked over at the desk. He'd left the Beretta there while he had inspected the locker. Everything seemed to swim in panic for an instant as she stared at the creature, the cold realisation hitting her that she was probably going to die down here.

And then all of a sudden her anger kicked in again, her emotions oscillating wildly between fear and rage. On the very edge of hysteria she dashed to the desk, grabbed Wesker's gun and began to fire blindly at the thing, sending two shots into it's chest and shoulder area and missing with the third one.

But the monster remained there, looming and angry, it's oversized arm twitching and ready to crush whatever it could hold in its massive paw.

Wesker sprung into action instantly, dashing over to Annette and pushing her out of the bandersnatch's immediate reach, onto the ground. Not a moment too late. She heard its fist connect with the lockers behind them and as she glanced up, she was terrified at the extent of damage the thing had caused.

They were going to die.

The thought presented itself to Annette's mind as she hit the floor with a painful thud and it continued to repeat itself, like a steady, sickening mantra. Yanking the gun out of her hand Wesker threw the metal table over, using it as cover. He started aiming for the bandersnatch's head.

As she crawled behind the upturned table she watched in shock as it stood impassive against the hail of bullets which Wesker unleashed. Had she not been busy fearing for her life, she might have almost been impressed that the Rockfort facility had managed to produce something of note.

Wesker cursed under his breath as the BOW simply stared at them. Blood oozed from its wounds, but it didn't seem to feel the pain that the bullets produced. The bandersnatch drew its arm back again and hit the place where Wesker's head had been an instant before.

"Behind you," he gasped as he got back up, pausing only to fire off his last three rounds. "The ventilation shaft. Get in. Now."

The bandersnatch attacked again, and this time hit the table they were seeking shelter behind. It took a moment for Wesker's words to sink in as she stared at the dented table like a deer caught in headlights and Wesker gave her another urgent glance. "Now!"

As the thing growled, Annette scrambled to her feet and turned around, fumbling with the grating over the shaft. It was a little rusted and at first didn't seem to be budging, so she began kicking at it frantically, bringing her foot down on the corner of the metal with all her strength. It seemed like an eternity, although it could not have been more than about ten seconds before it finally yielded.

She prised it off, throwing it aside and clambered in. As she retreated into the darkness, she could see Wesker's form still in the locker room and she screamed so loudly that her voice echoed off the walls of the cramped metal tunnel.

"Hurry!"

The bandersnatch's next blow broke the table in two and Wesker used the moment to crawl in after her. Annette held her breath and prayed that the BOW didn't have enough intellect to consider sticking its arm into the shaft after them.

"Hurry!" Wesker called, out of breath. "Move! Move!"


	5. Chapter V

Chapter V

With both of them safely in the airvent, Annette began to crawl frantically into the darkness up ahead. Wesker followed at the same spee, risking a glance over his shoulder – and froze.

In an instant, there was a flash of yellowing skin, and he gave a gasp of surprise as cold fingers wrapped around his arm. Annette grabbed at his shirt, but there was little she could do against the thing's strength. He tried to resist the force, searched for something to hold on to, but the small tunnel provided little aid.

He heard the fabric of his shirt rip as the BOW wrenched again and felt the tips of his fingers go numb at the increased pressure. Grunting, he clenched his teeth and pushed down on the trigger, the noise of gunshots revebrating in the cramped space.

It took two tries until the painful grip on his arm loosened. Annette fell backwards, lying on her back for a few seconds, slightly stunned.

"You ok?" she breathed in a hushed voice.

He pressed onward, ignoring her question. "Go, go!"

He didn't know how far the thing's arm reached, and honestly didn't want to find out. Once they were clearly out of danger he allowed himself to stop, taking a deep breath. God, that had been _too_ close.

"You know something, Albert?" Annette suddenly announced with a slightly hysterical laugh. "I think we're completely fucked." She continued to, rather unhelpfully, appraise the situation out loud. "Those things could be everywhere, and I have no idea where to go from here, or how we're going to get off this fucking island."

"I told you that there's no way back," he answered sardonically. "We've got only one shot left. I might be able to take out some of the stray carriers in close combat, but something like this…" He shook his head in the darkness. "I felt its strength. It could have easily crushed my bones. There's no way we can survive another encounter without the right equipment."

"Then we need to find the right equipment," Annette said desperately. "There must be something stashed about somewhere, it's Ashford, for Christ's sake, he's forever spending money he doesn't have on weaponry!"

The thought was slightly comforting, but Wesker wasn't willing to bet his money on it.

"We should press on," he suggested. "Take the next best exit."

As they turned a corner he could make out a dull glow over Annette's shoulder, flickering against the steel walls of the tunnel. On closer inspection, he realised there was a room on the other side, solely illuminated by the flickering of a computer monitor. Was it the control room they'd been looking for? It seemed like too convenient a stroke of luck, given recent events. Still, there was nothing for it but to investigate.

Leaning against the wall, Annette started kicking to dislodge the covering of the grate. He waited behind her, not really able to help in the narrow vent. Once she managed and they got out, Wesker couldn't believe their luck. It was one of the many stations for security. He quickly checked the door, locked it and flicked on the lights. Finally, a safe spot.

He sat down in one of the chairs, putting the gun on the desk and took one moment of rest. Annette slumped into a chair next to him and he took a moment to scrutinize her. She was sweating slightly and a layer of dirt had attached to her clothes from the crawl. Raising an eyebrow, he noticed that she still held the piece of fabric from his torn shirt, but didn't say anything.

"I'll look for a map while you see if any of the monitors still work," Annette suggested. "And the communication devices, if there's any..."

She began rifling through the papers in the drawer while he booted up the computer. He managed to enter the security program, calling up the camera feeds. Surprisingly enough, most were still functioning. He leant in closer, zooming in on a group of dirty lab coats. Three carriers. He wasn't familiar with the layout of the facility, but at least they knew what awaited them in the corridor camera 47 was monitoring.

Wesker clicked on more images, bringing up more carriers and the ever patient bandersnatch still regarding the air vent in the locker room.

But he soon found something of higher importance catch his attention. Two hunters. Basic models, one of William Birkin's early discoveries. They weren't as intelligent as their newer generation brethren, but held the same lethality. Camera 29. He made a mental note to avoid going that way.

Once finished with the video feed, Wesker tried to access the communication devices. He wasn't dismayed when he got an error message. That much had been forseeable.

Turning to Annette, he asked, "Did you find anything?"

:

Annette had pulled out files and paperwork and discarded them to the floor, but produced a small leather bound book. Opening it, she gave a satisfied smile.

"It's a notepad with all the keycodes for the building," she announced. "Thank God someone was stupid enough to leave this in an unlocked drawer. I'll keep looking for a map."

He nodded. Codes were good. Some passages might be locked and their own ID cards wouldn't bring them far here. Getting out of the chair, Wesker went to the other side of the room, starting to rummage through the drawers himself. There wasn't much worthwhile in there, but in the back of the third drawer he pulled them an ace.

"Glock, fully loaded," he explained, examining the gun in the flourescent neon liht. "Seventeen shots."

Annette's face broke out into a grin. "That's the best thing I've heard all day. There's a plan of the labs here, but it's not great. I can make out enough to work out which direction we need to head in, but that's about it."

He rounded the table, looking at the map she had unfolded.

"It's very basic," he agreed. But it was better than nothing. "Here."

He pointed a finger at the paper, and trailed it along a line. "That's the air vent we came through. And this is the security station."

Eying up Annette, he weighed the odds, then asked. "Do you know how to use a weapon? Correctly?"

"I've fired a gun before. But I'm no expert. I'd probably be fine at very close range. Give me a few bullets just in case, but I think it would be better for you to hold on to the majority."

He nodded and transferred four more bullets to his Beretta, then handed it to Annette. "You have five shots."

She took the proferred weapon and tucked it in the waistband of her jeans. "Don't worry, I won't be doing any fighting if I can avoid it," she said with a shaky laugh. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a moment. "I'm ready. Let's get out of here."

Wesker nodded and unlocked the door, checking both sides of the corridor before stepping out. For the moment, they were alone. He took a left turn, the way leading past open examination rooms. Most of what was inside was broken or turned over, here and there bloodstains smearing the white walls.

It wasn't long until they encountered another infected. The man had lost the better part of his earlobe and stared at them from inside an empty room. When he picked up their smell, he started to approach in the shambling fashion of carriers. Wesker simply pulled the door shut, locking the infected inside the room. They went on.

The strip lights flickered above them, lending the deserted and blood-spattered laboratory complex an eerie glow, shadows bouncing off the walls, the memory of carnage staining a place which only earlier that day had seemed laughably safe, bustling with activity.

"Thank God William isn't here," Annette suddenly whispered to herself.

He smiled thinly, although she couldn't see it from behind. He didn't bother to respond. Mainly, because there was nothing to say in William Birkin's favor, and then, because there was no time left.

It announced itself with a scream and Wesker already had the weapon at the ready, when it rounded the corner. 'It' turned out to be one of Alfred's research staff. But surprisingly enough, the man didn't seem to be infected, or at least not succumbed to the virus's effects yet. He screamed even louder when he saw Wesker and Annette. He ran towards them, his arms outstretched.

"They're coming!" he yelled. "Watch out, they're coming!"

When the man was close enough, Wesker grabbed him by the front of his labcoat. The researcher looked at them both, eyes bloodshot and ruddy cheeks soaked with sweat.

"Oh God, you two... Wesker... Birkin... this is ALL YOUR FAULT!" he screamed at them, and began babbling hysterically.

With a cold glare, Annette slapped him sharply across the face, which silenced him long enough for her to demand irately, "What's coming, and what are you talking about?"

"You're to blame!" the man cried, close to tears. "He did it because of _you!_ All because of _YOU! _You've doomed us all! They'll come and get you in the end! They'll rip you to pieces!"

Wesker pulled the gun and pointed it under the man's nose. "Keep your voice down or _they'll_ be coming a damn sight quicker."

"What do you mean because of..." Annette trailed off. "Wait a minute, are you talking about _Ashford?_ Oh he did not...he fucking did not...he did this on _purpose?!_" she spat. She was beside herself with anger, but at the moment Wesker was infinitely more concerned with what was 'coming'.

"Are there more infected up ahead?" he demanded of the man, thrusting the barrel of his weapon in his face for emphasis. He had no intention of using it, but it seemed to be keeping the scientist from screaming the place down.

"Infected?!" The man echoed. "Infected, oh yes! You'll see for yourself! It's been one of _YOUR_ creations! Hunters, right? That's what you've named them! Well, they'll not get _ME!_"

He screamed and yanked free of Wesker's grasp, ignoring the gun that was pointed at him.

A moment later he was gone and Annette broke the following silence. "This is bad."

* * *

**Finally an all-new chapter! Welcome back to survival horror, guys and thanks for sticking along! Prepare for the _real_ fun to start!**


	6. Chapter VI

Chapter VI

Annette watched the researcher flee out of sight. She took a couple of steps back, shaking her head.

"Albert, we cannot go up against a Hunter," she said fearfully, stopping in her tracks as a fresh wave of anger hit. This had all been utterly preventable, they were going to die in this place, all thanks to a spoiled brat and his temper tantrums. The man had said 'he did this'. What the Hell was he playing at?

"When I get my hands on that little bastard, I'll kill him myself," she snarled, her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned a sickening white.

"Forget about Ashford for a moment," Wesker advised. "We'll get to him in time. Now we have other matters demanding our attention."

He took a moment to scrutinize the corridor the man had come from, then turned back to her. "We might be able to avoid them, but I don't think so. We have to be careful, silent. If it's true what he said, they're waiting for prey. It will be difficult. But we could do it."

In what state they'd survive in was another question altogether. The irony of being hundreds of miles from home and being stalked down by one of the creatures her husband had helped create was not lost on Annette and the thought made her shiver.

"Right," she said, reducing her voice to a whisper and praying that the frantic researcher had not cost them the advantage of stealth. "If we stay close to the walls and keep a sharp lookout..."

But if they saw one, what then? They couldn't outrun it, they couldn't outfight it. The scientist's words echoed in her head... they'd be ripped to shreds. But what choice did they have? It was either this or sit and barricade themselves in a room and start praying. One option was worse than the other and Annette could befriend with neither.

"We can do it," she said to herself and started walking. They rounded the corner slowly, careful to avoid any unnecessary noise. The corridor ahead was empty. There were two open doors on the left and a closed one on the right. Wesker inclined his head slightly, putting a finger on his lips.

From here on no more words.

Keeping her eyes darting about between the empty corridor and Wesker's figure in front of her, Annette moved behind her companion, her breathing slow and silent, feeling sure that the pounding of her heart in her ears would give them away at any moment. The silence was deafening, the air thick with tension as the pair waited for unseen enemies.

But the place remained deserted. Maybe the scientist was just another hysterical idiot? Or maybe someone with common sense had deployed anti-BOW gas already... maybe..

She heard a scraping sound, faint, but audible, and shot Wesker an enquiring look, hoping that he'd just fumbled and scraped his gun off the wall or something.

There wasn't even time for him to answer, because the thing that had broken the silence emerged out of nowhere. She only saw its shadow at first, a rough shape, and by the time she could get a detailed look of what had come upon them Wesker was already stumbling back, pushing Annette with his free hand and pressing down on the trigger. The bullet went wide and the Hunter before them snarled in rage, lust and hunger.

She choked down a scream, her back to the wall as she stared into the great, gaping mouth and sharp yellow teeth of the creature in front of them, so close that she could feel it's breath on her skin as it glared at the pair with menacing intent. Slowly she pulled the gun from her jeans, her hands shaking as she disengaged the safety.

But the click resonated loud in the corridor and it was enough to provoke the creature into striking in Wesker's direction, it's clawed swipe a ferocious blur, too quick for her vision to even properly discern.

Wesker pressed against her, pushing her back and she could feel as the BOW's claw cut the air beside him, leaving deep marks in the concrete wall.

"Go! GO!" he yelled, losening another shot at the Hunter. He urged Annette inside the nearest room, throwing himself against the metal door. It wasn't a minute until the Hunter pounded against the obstacle keeping it form its prey.

Annette let out a stream of curses as she threw her back to assist Wesker, pushing against the door with all her might. The glass window above her head shattered under the force of the assault from outside. The metal began to split and buckle under the razor sharp claws.

"It's going to give...!" she yelled, scanning the room for something they could take shelter behind but there was nothing except formica tabletops – and those would shatter in a split second.

In one almighty crash a hole appeared in the door next to her face and a reptile arm shot into the room. She leapt back, realising that if she stayed against the door she might be stabbed clean through with the Hunter's next attempt at entry.

Beside her Wesker readied his gun again, barely aiming as he pulled the trigger and struck it point blank. The offended limb retreated instantly and Wesker was able to push the door closed again.

It nearly locked when he was suddenly thrown against the wall, the door slammed open with inhuman force. Blood dripping from its arm, the Hunter towered dangerously in the doorway. The monster was barely a few feet away from her.

Not hesitating a second Annette raised her gun and unloaded a shot into its chest, hoping to stun it momentarily so she could gain some distance, even though in the back of her mind she knew they were ultimately trapped in the little room.

As she ran behind one of the benches the Hunter leapt after her, slashing out with its uninjured arm. She ducked backwards, tripping, and felt a whistle of air and a sharp sting as the longest of its claws cut a gash into her cheek. If she'd been a fraction closer, it would have taken her face off. She started to crawl frantically behind the bench as the creature smashed down angrily on the tabletops.

Annette barely registered the sound of gunfire as Wesker took up shooting again. Suddenly, he was speeding towards the BOW and rammed it with all his strength, bringing them both to fall.

It took her a couple of seconds to register what had just happened. _Is he fucking crazy?_ was her first thought, before she realised he had, in all probability, just saved her life. For now.

The Hunter roared in rage, its mouth open, claws flailing dangerously. If she shot, it might react and attempt to strike out at Wesker, or worse, she might miss and hit him instead. But what other options did she have?

It occurred to her that the door was no longer blocked, that she could flee the room if she wanted to, make a run to safety and leave Wesker to deal with the monster himself. She rejected the thought almost as soon as it came to her, getting to her feet and aiming the barrel of her gun at the creature's back.

Wesker was trying to roll away into safety, scrambling to his feet. As did the Hunter. It roared in agony, reared up and crossed the distance to Wesker with incredible speed, before either of them could stop it.

Wesker stumbled back until he hit the wall and in that second Annette thought that the BOW's lipless mouth turned into a bizzare smirk. Then it struck home.

"Albert!"

Her scream echoed off the walls as she watched blood start to seep through the front of Wesker's clothes. For a horrible, time-stopping moment she thought the thing had killed him, but the man kept moving, getting himself out of the creature's immediate reach.

"Fuck..." Annette hissed

She started to run towards the pair of them, firing twice at the Hunter's back. The shots did little to impress it, but she managed to momentarily divert its attentions from her companions.

_Shit, and what now?_

The Hunter looked around with an incensed growl and she met its dark, predatory gaze with her own wide eyes as she began to back off.

In a flash, the BOW leapt towards her, closing the space between them with terrifying ease. It swiped again, batting her with the side of its arm as she stumbled backwards against the force of the blow.

Just as she was about to hit the floor she felt herself being lifted back, a second before a painful fire blazed through her right arm. With a muffled cry she looked up to see two rows of razor sharp fangs closing in on her bare flesh.

As Annette's vison began to blur, she heard Wesker growl in pain, catching sight of his moving form from the corner of her eye. He got another shot in, this time hitting the Hunter close to the head. Apparently he hit the right spot, because it let go of her arm instantly.

As soon as she fell to the floor she was scrambling to her feet again, fumbling for her gun as it slipped from her hand with the sticky blood seeping from the wound.

"RUN!" Wesker yelled, keeping his finger tightly pressed on the trigger. A bullet in the chest, arm, leg. The Hunter screamed and turned towards him in rage. Wesker didn't stop shooting. He caught it in the head, blowing off a row of teeth. It charged, but he stood his ground.

Annette fired her last remaining shot at the creature, catching it clumsily in the leg, enough to make it stumble a little as it advanced towards Wesker. Bleeding profusely, she broke into a run to the other side of the room, cowering in the corner next to the door as she watched the ensuing fight helplessly, ready to flee if it came to the worst.

The Hunter kept coming, Wesker's attempts to kill it barely slowing it down and she saw him brace himself for the impact. It literally ran him over, knocking him to the ground effortlessly. They toppled over, the Hunter landing on top of him, flexing its muscled arm to bring it down on its prey. Wesker continued to fire desperately.

Eventually one of the bullets must have gotten it in the head, because it reared back off him with a high pitched scream, shaking, tripping and convulsing on the floor. Wesker quickly got back to his knees, gasping for air, tightly enclosing the empty gun as they both watched the BOW spasm out of life on the floor.

Annette covered her mouth with her hand, scarcely believing that the creature was really dead. She waited until it stopped twitching, watching the pool of blood around it growing bigger and bigger. Then she rushed over to Wesker, sinking to her knees on the floor beside him, her eyes wild and her hands shaking.

She wanted to ask if he was badly hurt, to appraise the state of his wounds, to do something useful, but no words came out and her shoulders slumped as the last of her frayed nerves gave out.

She burst into tears, sobbing as she forlornly watched the blood streaming from her bitten arm mix in a puddle with the rest of the crimson liquid from both Wesker and the Hunter that now smeared the floor.

She wanted to believe that it was really over now, but the throbbing pain in her limb kept reminding her of a better and eventually, as her crying subsided and her breathing began to return to normal, she finally dared to whisper it out loud.

"Albert...I've been bitten..." she said, her voice cracking. "You know what that means..."

* * *

** A hearty thanks to all the people who took the time to read, review and favorite this story! I know that Annette is not a very popular character, but I hope this little adventure will make you like, or at least understand her more. **

**Opinions, critics and suggestions are wanted and welcome!**


	7. Chapter VII

Chapter VII

They dressed their wounds in silence, no words spoken when both knew what the future held for them. Direct blood contact with a MA, the consequences of that were clear. Infection was highly probable. The T-virus could be streaming through their veins at this very moment. He thought he could feel the pathogen coursing through his body, systematically eating away at his cells.

"There is an antidote," he reminded her. "There's still a chance."

There was a serum that could be applied, and she knew it just like him. There wasn't a great deal of it, but it would be enough to kill the virus within their bodies.

Annette's gaze was absent and he only realized she was staring at his chest when he followed her line of vision.

"Do you think you'll be able to walk any distance with this...?" she asked. "You know your own limits, right?"

He circled his arm demonstratively, his lips a thin white line. Three big gashes extended across his torso. He had been lucky. While a lot of blood had flown the wounds were not deep enough to damage any internal organs. Annette had put a makeshift dressing on him. They both agreed that he needed stitches, but this was no place for such a treatment. Once they were out of here they had all the time in the world.

His eyes fixed on the Hunter corpse. "If we don't keep going, we have to stay here. And that's no option."

Not that walking sounded like a great idea either. They had no more ammunition and the way ahead was crowded with corpses. With his newest handicap it would be impossible to take down any carriers in close combat. Not to mention BOWs. To survive another such encounter... impossible. They needed to find a way out before something else found them.

"We'll take our time," Annette assured, the fear in her voice so very clear. "No sense in rushing if it just means one of us ends up collapsing, right?"

They were both reeking with the scent of fresh blood and it would attract anything that was lurking about. Annette had undoubtedly realized this too.

"If something attacks us again, we'll just have to try and barricade ourselves in a room somewhere and..." she faltered lamely. "...hope it goes away."

:

"We'll find a way," he said, forcing a grim smile. His eyes fell on the Hunter, searching for a twitch, but it remained motionless.

_One down... and one more to go_, he thought with horror and wished that they would never encounter it. After picking up the empty weapon from the ground he looked back at Annette.

"Ready to go? Don't forget the gun. We might find ammo on the way." If they didn't, this story wouldn't have a happy ending. She picked the pistol up from the floor and nodded, tucking it back into her jeans.

Stepping past the ruined door and out into the corridor Wesker assessed the situation.

"It's safe."

Annette pushed a strand of hair behind her ears and wiped her grimy forehead with one hand. With a deep breath she followed him out into the hallway. They kept close to the wall, treading quickly and softly. The place seemed deserted, but ever since the latest incident they had learned not to trust such misleading clues anymore.

Wesker scanned every room they passed. Most were marked by the chaos and despair of the sudden outbreak. Tables were knocked over, million-dollar equipment hauled across the room as impromptu defence. But there were no guns in any of the offices. The AK-47 had been a lucky strike and a trap just the same. Even if they happened upon another weapon, Wesker wasn't sure if he wanted to go and get it. Last time it had nearly cost them their lives. But defenseless as they were at the moment was no lucrative option either. Sooner or later they'd face obstacles and the majority of those couldn't be handled without firepower.

As if on cue a low moan echoed through the corridor and Wesker stopped dead in his tracks. He could feel Annette inch closer to him from behind. The moans continued, something scratched against the wall. Both of them stared at the corner ahead.

A disfigured shadow rounded it first, the neon lights above lending it an eerie silhouette. Attached to it was labcoat, a shambling carrier that had lost most of its left arm to the hunger of its comrades.

There it was, their first obstacle.

Annette reached for her gun, probably forgetting that it was useless. Keeping very still, she rested her hand lightly on his arm.

"If there's only one of them, we can try to run past it..." she said uncertainly.

He wasn't so convinced. Running was hardly the best option, especially considering that they didn't know what lay ahead.

The carrier turned its head in their direction, obviously picking up the scent of blood, of injured prey. It let out a groan and beside him Annette turned a starker shade of pale.

"I might be able to take it down," he offered, but he wasn't very fond of the idea. "So it doesn't follow us later. We might be forced to retreat at some point. And it will still be here..."

"The other option is running," he continued, trying to work out their alternatives while the infected stumbled closer. "But we don't know what's up ahead. And it will follow us. The trail of blood."

The thing was still a safe distance away, but they had to decide soon. It was hungry and it would hunt them until they were either too far away for it to smell, or they barricaded themselves in somewhere. In their current physical state they weren't realistically going to be able to move quickly out of range of the thing's heightened sense, and there was no time for hiding. They both had a time limit.

"We could try to take it down together…" Annette whispered doubtfully.

Wesker thought this over and eventually nodded. "You need to do exactly what I tell you to."

He took another scrutinizing look at the carrier. "We'll walk towards it, both of us. I'll go on its other side. Then-" he paused, eyeing her up. "Then you have to distract it. Make it try to grab you. I'll finish it from behind. Can you do that?"

Annette was clearly not valuing this plan very highly, but she inclined her head in the affirmative. He returned the gesture, glad that she was willing to follow his orders. It would make things a lot easier.

"Right then..." she said, hesitating a little before she began walking. They advanced on it and Wesker picked up speed to pass the decaying man completely. It lunged at him, but its stiff muscles acted far too slow to be any real danger. When Annette was close enough, she stopped and stared at it. To his surprise she kicked out at its shins, scraping her foot down its rotting flesh. It raised its remaining arm and began stumbling towards her, gripping her shoulders with its hand as she fought to pull back.

Wesker took two strides forward, coming up behind the carrier whose attention was focused solely on the victim in front of it. He positioned one arm around its neck and the other around its forehead. With a harsh tug he listened to the sickly sound of its vertebrae popping under the strain. It fell limp in his grip and he discarded it to the floor without a trace of hesitation. The movements had caused his injured side to flare up in pain, but he would favor pain over death any time.

Gazing at Annette, he asked. "Are you alright?"

She stared back with a mix of horror and admiration and looked again at the body on the floor, the thing's head lolling at an unnatural angle. "Fine..." she stammered, a stunned silence filling the corridor before she added with wide eyes and shaking voice, "That was...impressive..."

They left the corpse behind them, walking in silence through the empty corridors, listening to their own footsteps that echoed in the hallways. He kept waiting for moans, for hisses, anything to give the creatures away that certainly watched and hunted them. With both of them bleeding, they were more vulnerable than ever. The smell of blood would attract all kinds of predators, be it humans or worse. He tried to remember the video feeds he'd seen in the monitor room. One Hunter was still roaming the labs and the bandersnatch that had probably abandoned the empty vent. In those cases, breaking their necks wouldn't be so easy.

Absentmindedly he asked, "How's the arm?"

Annette seemed deep in thought and almost jumped at the question. "Hmm? It's fine..." she replied, although he imagined that it probably felt like anything but. "Hurts, but I can still use it if I have to." She kept it tucked awkwardly into her side. "I'm a bit more worried about your injuries, to be honest."

He didn't bother to contemplate whether her worries were rooted in friendly concern or in the fact that she was dead without him. And when he didn't reply, she pressed on, "Albert... do you think someone managed to get word out about this?"

"I dont know," he replied sincerely. If it was an accidental outbreak Spencer had already sent a clean-up crew on the way. But if it really was Alfred's doing then he had the power to keep it secret from the rest of the world, at least for another few hours, days even. Long enough to get them killed, if they didn't find a way off the island on their own. They had to get out of here under their own steam, get an anti viral shot as quickly as possible, or risk being eliminated by UBCS.

"We shouldn't wait for help. Not in the state that we're in. Even though we're both high ranking, you know what the protocols on infected are. No risks. And we're injured. They'll assume as-"

He stopped in the middle of the sentence, not able to believe what his eyes saw. Wesker fastened the pace, almost fell into a jog. Up ahead was a door marked with the bold lettering _'Control_ _Room'_. He wrapped his fingers around the door knob and without much of a hope, turned. The door opened.

The room was free of destruction. It was small, metal lockers running along either side. Neither of them waited for further invitation. Lockers were opened, personal items thrown to the floor in search of ammunition. By the time Wesker reached the end of his row his hopes had catapulted drastically.

There was indeed ammunition, he'd seen at least two clips that should match their guns. One of the lockers even contained a kevlar vest, resistant to bullets as well as claws and teeth. A little island Heaven in the middle of Hell.

They emptied the desk in the middle of the room, swiping it free of its contents and beginning to load it with their findings. Three clips for the pistols, the kevlar and a hunting knife that had been tucked away in a uniform. Wesker set to divide the equipment. He put his gun on the table and gestured for Annette to do the same.

"We have three clips, that's forty-five bullets in total. I suggest that you take one and I'll take the other two. The knife I will take myself. It will help dispose of the easy kills. We don't have to waste bullets on already damaged carriers. Oh, and there is this here," he said, pointing to the vest. "You should take it. It might be a bit large, but it will protect you from any attacks. No claw can rip through that."

"As far as the ammo goes, I agree," Annette responded. "But I think it would be more sensible if you took the vest." She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. "If you get too badly hurt, neither of us stands a chance of getting out," she pointed out levelly. "And you're already injured."

Her words had a ring of truth to them, even if that truth was quite terrifying. Escaping Alfred's whitewashed necropolis depended almost solely on him. It was old news, but having it pointed out added to a responsibility he didn't want to carry.

"Alright," he said eventually. Ejecting the empty clip of his pistol he exchanged it with the new one. Then came the kevlar vest, an item that strangely gave him more hope than all the ammunition they had found. It created a wall between him and death, and even if that wall wasn't insurmountable it was still a defense not to be underestimated.

Putting it on proved to be the harder part. And the more painful one. It might have been his size, but the material pressed down on the injury and he couldn't contain a low moan when he snapped the buckles shut in the front.

"You know it's better to keep pressure on a wound anyway," Annette pointed out gently, as she watched him and cast one last glance around the room to make sure they hadn't missed anything.

"Now, all we have to do is find that plane." There was a bright note of hope in her voice, despite the odds still being stacked against them.

"...and kick the shit out of Ashford," she added, with a bitter little laugh.

It was the very definition of 'easier said than done', he reflected.

* * *

**It's been a while, I know. University took up all my time. Where can you buy an upgrade to have more hours in a day?**


	8. Chapter VIII

Chapter VIII

As they continued through the deserted corridors, Annette found new confidence in the fact that she was carrying a loaded gun again. The heavy metal in her hands lent her an odd sense of security. But she knew that wasn't the only thing upping her spirits. For a moment, after the MA assault, she had hit rock bottom. Wesker's injury played a big role in it. Nobody had to tell her how slim her chances were to survive with his help – the chance to survive alone dangled somewhere in the subzero zone.

She sincerely hoped that events would continue to transpire in their favour from here on in and she would be able to save her bullets to use on Alfred. The poetic irony of the other Birkin killing the other Ashford was something that would not be entirely lost on her. It gave a little fuel to the fire that kept her moving, despite the cold and the pain that had now settled into a dull ache. In the light of their situation the thought of revenge seemed absurd, but sometimes it was these silly things that kept you on your feet.

The corridor ahead of them ended in a solid metal double door. It was electronically locked, newest state of the art. A grey box hung beside it. There was a place to slip an ID card through and beside it a numeric pad.

Wesker pried at the box and the front plate came undone. A jumble of cables dropped out. To Annette they meant little, apart from showing an accumulation of various rainbow colors.

She looked at Wesker hopefully. "Tell me that you know which one to cut."

"This is like gamble," he explained, but Annette couldn't really grasp the connection. "More luck than skill."

"Well." She scrutinized the wires. All were equally thick, equally long and equally twisted. It reminded her a lot of those unsolvable puzzles made from wood or metal. She remembered once fidgeting around with three intertwined rings that you could apparently part from one another. She had never managed. "Which one will you take?"

Wesker grabbed a handful of cables and unsheathed the knife. "What is your favorite color?"

Annette put a hand on her hip. "Our lives shouldn't depend on my favorite color." She tried to memorize action movies, those desperate few seconds when the hero is faced with just the same choice. And usually the bet is not only his own life, but that of a beautiful damsel in distress and the rest of the world, too. She felt like being in one of those tv shows, where you had to choose your price at the end. What does door one reveal? What is hidden behind two? Will number three be the door to paradise?

Wesker said, "My favorite color is blue."

Blue was not the right one. Nothing budged. The door remained closed. But at least no alarm set off either. Her shoulders sagged.

Wesker seemed to realize, because he told her, "We still have a few options."

"And if you cut the last one and it still doesn't open?"

"Then we have to backtrack and find another way."

And they both knew that wasn't an option.

Next, Wesker tried the yellow one. The door didn't open, but a noise came from within the mechanism. They exchanged a short glance, before Wesker moved to the door. He clawed at the edges, trying to pull them apart.

His first attempt was futile. He turned around to her, irritation dripping from his voice. "Make yourself useful."

Annette moved more out of surprise than to follow his bidding. She was a little startled by his sudden temper, but quickly blamed it on his injury. She was a bundle of nerves herself, it would be unfair to think he would be unfazed by all that had happened.

She stepped up to help him and together they managed to force the heavy double doors open. The corridor snaked on ahead of them, giving off little branches that led to other hallways and rooms. Surprisingly enough, the scale of devastation hadn't reached this area of the complex yet. The way ahead of them remained free, as if whatever had lurked there before was afraid of their presence now.

"Perhaps they could contain the infection?" she offered.

Wesker clicked his tongue. "If Ashford is truly responsible for this I doubt he would allow for his plans to be jeopardized. He was unscrupulous enough to sacrifice his staff."

Touche.

A buzz broke the silence, but if was far away, so subtle that Wesker didn't even seem to notice. She perked her ears, trying to discern what it was. A carrier? No, nothing like that, something much more out of place. It sounded like a waterfall, in the distance.

"Do you hear that?" she asked.

Wesker was startled by her question, but stopped, listening. With the noise of their footsteps gone it was definable.

"It sounds like water," he suggested and she wondered what that meant. Perhaps someone had left the water running, or a BOW had destroyed a pipe in its wake. Whatever it was, it couldn't be very serious. Annette shrugged it off and they kept walking, the sound of gushing water getting closer and closer, until it became a clear roar.

Rounding the corner, she stopped and groaned at the sight. The corridor seemed to be on a slope and at the far end a burst pipe was spewing water, which had pooled into a knee deep flood. The lights flickered on and off, casting illuminations on the surface.

She rolled her eyes. "This is all we need."

Still, at least the flooded area would be most likely free of carriers, she speculated to herself.

Wesker sighed as they stopped before the newest obstacle. "As long as whatever broke the pipe is gone, the only trouble we'll have are wet boots." He took a step forward and stepped into the water. "It's not very deep."

"True," she said and followed his example, shivering as the cold seeped into her shoes. It was a distinctly unpleasant sensation. "I just hope it isn't worse further up ahead."

Assuming the flood was contained, they'd make their way through it in no time. Worst case scenario, they'd have to swim for it. They'd already fought off hoards of the undead and survived a Hunter attack, how bad could some minor flooding be? The water was getting deeper, but so far it was barely higher than their knees.

Annette froze, catching sight of something white up ahead. It bobbed just below the surface, the flickering lights of the corridor bouncing off it.

"Albert," she whispered. "Over there..." What the Hell was that thing? A dead researcher, she hoped.

At her words, Wesker turned his head and they both stood for a moment, scrutinising the object in question. Much to her dismay, on closer inspection it turned out to be the body of a man, the white she had seen before belonging to a soaked labcoat.

"Did it drown?" she asked incredulously. She didn't know if carriers could swim. Nobody had ever thought of performing a test on that, but something told her that the cause of death was more alarming than simple inability to float atop water.

"I don't want to check," Wesker told her. "Go around it." So they did. The body swam in the middle of the corridor and they pressed their backs to the wall as they passed it.

As they did, they kept their eyes on the body, not quite trusting the corpse to be as dead as it pretended. Infected didn't have enough intelligence to fake death, but they were far beyond the point of taking chances. After they passed it, Wesker jarred to another abrupt halt. Annette tiptoed behind him, peering over his shoulder. Ahead of them was another body. With one small difference. This one was certainly no human. The white in the water did not belong to a labcoat. In the neon lights it seemed more like skin than clothing. Whatever it was, it didn't move. Annette hoped it was just as dead as the researcher from before.

"Keep your arm dry," Wesker suddenly cautioned her. "The virus might have leaked into the water."

Annette raised her injured arm, holding it across her chest as they approached the creature, a deep frown creasing her features. They were fairly close to the body already, when she thought something was terribly wrong about the situation. As they got closer something in her mind started to nag at her, something familiar from the previous day's tour.

And as the unknown creature suddenly started to twitch rapidly, she felt a wave of panic in her chest.

"Those things...from the tanks..." she stammered. Alfred had shown them. With so much overblown pride…

As if answering her question, a flash of electric blue rippled over the surface of the creature's skin.

"We need to get out...we need to get out the water!"

She started to turn, wondering if they could make a run for it, but they were right in the middle of the flooded area, surrounded by liquid blue. Had this thing been responsible for the carrier's death?

The creature moved lazily after them, considerably slower. That didn't mean it couldn't harm them though. One of those electric shocks… what had Alfred said about their power?

"Hurry!" Wesker called through gritted teeth, picking up speed and risking a glance over his shoulder. He frowned at the sight, and grabbed Annette's uninjured hand. "Faster!"

The thing had woken up from its trance and was now quickly approaching. Annette tried to remember what Alfred had told them about these experiments the previous day, but all rational thinking seemed to be blocked at the moment. Their splashing and movement was attracting the creature's attention even more.

She gripped Wesker's hand tightly, trying to plough her way through the flood, her legs waterlogged and weighed down. She looked around desperately for something they could climb, some way out, but she drew a blank. If anything, she could swear the water was getting deeper, up to her thighs now and cloying at her limbs, slowing her movements further.

"It's no use," she said, her voice echoing in the halls over the gushing from the burst pipe. "We need to kill it!"

Wesker didn't even slow down. He knew just as well as her that her suggestion meant suicide. By now the thing had developed an immense speed. With the water getting deeper they lost sight of it ever so often, only to find it surface in another location the next moment.

"Keep running," her companion told her and loosened his grip around her hand. Slowing down, Wesker held the gun with both hands, ready to shoot. The only problem was, she couldn't see anything for him to shoot _at_.

She continued to make her way through the water, looking back over her shoulder every few seconds. The buzzing, flickering lights made everything worse, made every shadow on the water's surface look like a potential threat. And still, she could see nothing up ahead but more water, lapping angrily against the corridor walls, causing her shallow breathing to echo eerily.

Then there was a flash of white as the thing surfaced momentarily, silent and smooth, a few feet in front of Wesker. Annette stared at the scene in horror; the creature didn't seem to have any facial features apart from a gaping mouth and she didn't want to guess how many teeth had place in there.

Wesker pulled the trigger instantly and the shot hit home, but the creature gave no sound of pain as it vanished into the water. She watched a thin trail of blood swirl on the surface, daring to hope that it had been that simple, that the thing had simply laid down and died, another one of Ashford's pitiful experiments.

Quickly, they resumed moving. The water reached up to their waists now, and there still was no end to it.

"_WATCH OUT!_" she heard Wesker's sudden cry.

Her eyes went wide when the thing appeared again, close to her own body this time. Frightened, she tried to run, but it was closing the distance far too quickly. She jumped to the side, stumbling and crashing backwards with a sickening splash. Submerged for a moment, she pushed her head above the surface and started kicking out in an attempt to either regain her footing or swim backwards out of harm's way. The creature pursued her, so close that one of her kicks struck it in the face.

And suddenly it's teeth closed in around her leg, miraculously missing the flesh and pulling her down by the fabric of her jeans. In one swift motion water instead of oxygen filled her mouth and nose.

Her stinging eyes wide open underwater, Annette could see a trail of blood coming from the slick white hide, and tried to hit it where it was injured. She kicked frantically, reaching forward to try and push the thing off her, to no avail.

Something closed around her arm, and she felt Wesker drag her up, her head above water as she gulped in air, simultaneously trying to find a steady grip on the floor.

"Keep still!" Wesker commanded, training the gun on the monster. Annette instinctively squeezed her eyes shut, not for the first time praying that Wesker's aim would be true.

The creature let go, not felled, but certainly stunned. As it did, Annette felt a sharp, bristling pain rip through her leg and she let out a small scream. She looked down to see that same bright flash across its skin from before. Dripping wet and clinging onto Wesker, she shook her leg, flexing the muscles as they spasmed briefly before settling into a dull ache.

"What the Hell was that?" she yelled, knowing the answer to the question before the words were even out of her mouth. Things had suddenly gone from bad to worse.

Wesker didn't answer, but he was suddenly pointing in front of them. "Up ahead!"

She let out a gasp of relief. "Finally!"

The corridor had started to slope upwards, leading to a small, submerged set of stairs. In other words, dry land. Annette watched Wesker clamber out ahead of her to safety, looking as bad as she probably did. She breathed a small sigh as she started to follow, still limping slightly from the shock to her leg.

She was so absorbed in getting out that she didn't notice the creature surfacing behind her. Naturally, she didn't notice how it started shaking, or how its hide began to contract and crackle with electricity. Nor did she see it let rip a massive shock, the current traveling through the water in less than an instant.

What she did feel though, was the physical blow, a sudden surge of pain too fast to even comprehend. Her knees buckled and she slumped face down into the water like a rag doll as everything went black.

* * *

**Anyone guess which one of Alfred's monster toys the two are playing with?**


	9. Chapter IX

**A/N: I'm sorry for the nonexistant review replies. I'll get to them, I promise.**

Chapter IX

The first thing Annette was aware of when she awoke was a splitting headache and a dull throb in her limbs. With a feverish moan she opened her eyes, bright light flooding her vision and causing her head to swim painfully. She squinted for a few moments, letting her eyes adjust before attempting to move.

Sitting up, she realized she was on some kind of bed. Her first thought was that maybe they'd been rescued, evacuated. But the smile that had started to bloom faded sharply as she realised she was still in the labs. She was in some kind of storage room, with white walls, no windows and a single door.

She didn't know how long she'd been out for, but a sufficient amount of time had passed that her clothes and hair were no longer soaking wet, just uncomfortably damp. She looked around, noticing first that someone had blocked the door with a gurney. Then her gaze alighted on Wesker in the far corner, asleep in one of those uncomfortable little plastic chairs stocked along one wall. She stared at him for a few minutes, making sense of it all. She'd been unconscious and instead of leaving her and getting out himself, he must have carried her to safety. And with that jeopardising his own chances of survival in the process.

She wasn't quite sure why, most likely all the trauma of the day getting to her, playing on her emotions, but she felt a lump in her throat as she watched him sleep and wondered why suddenly she was trying not to cry. A deserted lab complex was hardly the right place for emotional escapades.

As she sniffled, the noise caused Wesker to sit up abruptly, and he blinked for a moment before looking at her.

"You're awake."

"Yeah, I…." she trailed off weakly. There was no use even pretending that she was in any fit state to get moving, even with the best will in the world. Everything ached, her head was splitting, and her muscles felt like they were still twisted into painful little knots. She was damp, miserable and bedraggled, and she shivered as feeling gradually started to return to her limbs and she realised just how cold it was, just how glad she was of the warmth of the room.

"Are you alright?"

She wasn't particularly alright at all, but that much was probably obvious. She simply shrugged dazedly. "What happened?"

"After you got knocked out, I carried you to the nearest room and barricaded us in," Wesker said, and there was a tiredness in his voice which made her feel guilty. "It's safe here for now, but if you can walk, then we should get going as soon as we can."

She nodded, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and getting to her feet shakily, holding onto the metal rail of the bed with her uninjured hand. By now someone had probably delivered the news to her husband and child that she was dead. She was so cold… so desperately tired. She'd been unconscious for God knew how long and she didn't even feel rested.

"It's going to be fine," she mumbled, just in case it needed to be said, wondering if Wesker was feeling as miserable as she was. Was he panicking on the inside like her, too? She looked at him, but her focus did not yet work correctly. Her head spun as tried to fixate a point on his kevlar vest.

"Take it easy," he warned, but made no motion to get out of his chair. She gave him a quick glance over, in search for new injuries. What if Alfred's pet had wounded him while she was unconscious? Perhaps the reason why he was still here with her was not solicitude, but simple inability to continue onwards.

"Are you alright?" she asked as she leant her upper body back against the wall.

He nodded, but seemed a little startled by the question. "I'm better than you in any case."

There was no chance for her to reply as a loud moan cut through the air and Annette all but fell backwards onto the bed, the little colour she had obtained draining from her face.

Wesker was unfazed by the foreboding noise. He looked at her calmly, "It's been there for a while." He gestured to the chair blocking the door. "You don't have to worry."

"How long was I out for?" she asked incredulously.

"I don't know. I left my watch back in the residence."

Annette hadn't brought one to Rockfort to begin with. She looked around the little storage room. There were a number of boxes neatly stocked beside each other. Lamps and chairs were arrayed in one corner. Two lockers stood beside the makeshift bed, but they were both empty. She could imagine Wesker had searched the room already and suddenly the prospect of finding anything useful to wishful thinking.

Wesker cleared his throat and she shot around to meet his gaze.

"Well…I…" She hesitated. "Thank you for getting me out…"

Outside, the carrier moaned again, hitting the door. Wesker simply nodded and checked the magazine of the pistol. She couldn't see how many bullets he still had, but the thought of a loaded gun reassured her nonetheless. A thought crossed her mind.

"Did I still have my gun on me when I was unconscious?"

Wesker's expression darkened at her question. "No." He shook his head. "It must still be in the water. We can backtrack. It's not far from here. I can climb into the water and get it for you."

"Damn..." she whispered, crestfallen. It had been fully loaded. She could only hope that the creature had moved onto pastures new in their absence. Or died of its injuries. She looked up again at the rattling chair, the unsettling banging outside growing more and more insistent.

Wesker followed her line of vision and eyed the door thoughtfully. Then he inquired, "Can you go on?"

Annette tentatively stretched her legs and winced as the muscles protested. But she decided that if these were her only two options – waiting for certain death or try to escape it – then she would be more than ok once they started moving again. She was in pain, but she could walk, maybe even run if need be, and that was the main thing.

"I'll be just fine," she responded. "Even better if we finally get the Hell out of here."

Wesker did not comment on the matter, pointing to the rattling door instead. "Let's get out for a start. This carrier is driving me crazy."

"You're right, let's kill that thing and get on our way," Annette said with a confidence that was not entirely genuine.

Moving over to the door, Wesker wrapped one hand around the handle and motioned for Annette to take away the gurney. When she was done he pulled the door open. The carrier was dumbstruck by the sudden movement, probably trying to comprehend how exactly the door had disappeared from one minute to the other. This one was a rather scrawny exemplar. It had shoulder length brown hair that fell over its face in tangles. No bigger predator seemed to have found it yet, the only injury being an infection bite on its right arm. It oddly reminded her of William, even though there was little physical resemblance.

Wesker pulled the trigger before either of them could waste another thought on the matter. The infected man died with an expression of momentary shock on his face, before parts of his skull flew away from the bullet Wesker had shot at point blank. Like a sack, the carrier's body dropped to the ground, and Wesker took a step back to avoid being hit by it.

Annette bit back the bile that rose in her throat, forcing herself to look away from the mass of brain and bone that now littered the floor. She refrained from any further comment as they passed the corpse. Not that Annette was in a particular mood to talk. It wasn't enough that she suffered from the consequences of an electric shock in water, Wesker had just effectively managed to turn her stomach upside down with his latest stunt.

She didn't want to be misunderstood. His doings were necessary for their both survival and she was, in fact, happy that he seemed to have passed the border of reluctance and apprehension. He knew what he had to do to get away with his life. They were dealing with biological weapons here, even if it was just a simple carrier. This situation had only one solution and it was not diplomacy. If brutality would get them onward, then so be it. Annette was more than content to let her companion play the soldier and just tag along in his shadow.

As they arrived at the site of the flooding, she peered anxiously into the water, searching for both the monster, and her lost gun. She saw neither and that deeply unnerved her. How far would they get with only one gun? She didn't want to answer that question. Looking over at Wesker, Annette could see the lines of worry tracing across his face too.

"What do we do now?"

"We need that gun."

She shook her head. "I'm not going in there to search for it." If the gun was the monster's toll for her life, then God, in the light of recent events, let it keep it. Could they really risk another encounter with it?

Wesker pointed some way into the water. "You were attacked when you tried to climb out. It shocked you, then you fell back. It must have grabbed you then, because when I jumped back in to get you, you were about that distance away. Not more than ten, fifteen feet. And you had the gun on you before, right?"

Annette racked her brains about the memory, but she drew a blank. "I honestly don't know. But I think so, yes. I don't remember losing it."

"How many bullets were in your clip?"

"I…," she sighed, suddenly feeling stupid. "I don't know. Sorry. Sorry, it's just…"

"Don't worry," he said, unzipping the kevlar vest. Annette winced at the sight beneath, but didn't say anything. Wesker proceeded with taking off his shoes, then let himself drop into the water. "Still as cold as before."

Annette scanned the surrounding area anxiously, clasping her hands, but the creature seemed nowhere to be seen. The problem was that with the neon lamps reflecting on the surface, it was hard to tell what was going on beneath it from her standing point.

Wesker paced the section that came into question, walking bent over. Annette made it to her personal task to be the second pair of eyes he needed to watch out for the creature.

Then Wesker suddenly stopped, bending over and plunging his arm up to his shoulder into water. Annette's face lit up when she saw him retrieve the weapon.

"You found it!" she exclaimed, barely believing their luck.

She helped him get back on dry land and watched ruefully as he put his shoes and vest back on. She felt a little guilty for letting him go in and get soaked again, but even at the thought of going back in that freezing cold pool, her legs started trembling. It wasn't even as much the prospect of getting wet as the fear of attracting Alfred's creation a second time.

Wesker handed her the weapon and took a last look at the water behind them. Annette found herself praying that they wouldn't have to backtrack eventually.

"Come on," Wesker said. "Let's go. I'm freezing."

She gave him a little apologetic wince. "Hopefully if we keep moving, you'll dry out soon," she offered, drying the gun on the front of her top and slipping it back into her waistband.

They started walking again, her steps brisk, her posture tense as she kept looking around her nervously. She had started to develop a fear of the silence... in her experience so far, when things went quiet, that usually lead to bad outcomes. The calm before the storm, so to say. But of course, being stuck in a lab complex full of monsters generally never lead to good things, silence or not.

There was only one more carrier on their way. It was in a pitiful state to say the least. This one wouldn't be a danger to them anymore. Something had gotten to it before them and left its body crushed on the ground, broken beyond even the T-virus' abilities to regenerate.

_Like a warning sign_, she thought. '_Do not trespass beyond this point. This includes the whole human race and all those who treasure their lives. Enter at your own risk. You have been warned.'_

Annette tried not to look at the corpse of the carrier, twitching as it was. She dreaded to think what could have done something like that and prayed that they would never encounter it. If it could mutilate a carrier to this extent, she imagined that it wouldn't have problems doing the same with them.

Shivering slightly, Annette gulped down her fear. 'STAY OUT' echoed in her ears. But 'STAY ALIVE' beat in her heart, a lot louder. And so they went on.


	10. Chapter X

Chapter X

There's a saying that sooner or later the ghosts of the past will catch up. Unfinished business can't be put to rest before its time.

He should have known something was wrong when they passed the mutilated carrier. It reeked of warning, the few discernible features on its torn face speaking of the wrath it had been killed with. But he had ignored it, hoping that good luck was on their side for just this once. Of course, it wasn't.

At least it had the decency of announcing itself. The sound was ear-splitting, like nails on blackboard. It let the hairs on Wesker's neck stand on edge. Claws on wall.

For a split second he asked himself where it had come from, if it had materialized out of thin air. But as it rounded the corner, boiling with fury and dripping with the blood of those who had cared to stay in its way, Wesker was sure that the bandersnatch on the other side of the hallway was very much flesh and bone. There was no doubt of this being the same specimen they had encountered earlier. He had never bothered memorizing specific traces of individual BOWs. They were branded with a code and kept in isolation for the duration of research, so it wasn't really a matter of importance. But now, faced with their probable death, Wesker was sure that he wasn't looking into these predator eyes for the first time.

Blood dripped from the bandersnatch's large arm. No doubt it belonged to the carrier they had seen before, or to any of its comrades the BOW had felled in its search for them. He had never attributed a specimen enough intelligence to pursue individual targets, but this was something horribly clear. It wanted to see them dead. It wanted to see them _dying_. Writhing and struggling, squirming underneath its hand while it crushed their skulls without even breaking a sweat.

For a moment he saw no sense in it all, no sense in running away or staying to fight. It would get them in the end, anyway. But then he put a hand on Annette's shoulder, pushing her back. Survival instinct earned the upper hand against frustration. He wanted to get the Hell out of here, off this goddamn island and never hear, see, or speak the name Ashford again. If he had to kill that thing to obtain this goal, then so fucking be it.

As if waiting for them to make up their minds, the bandersnatch stood patiently at the other end of the corridor. It stared at them with milky eyes, flexing its muscular arm against some primitive form of boredom. Eventually it decided that staring alone would not satisfy it anymore. After that, there was no more time for thoughts. The bandersnatch awoke from its rigor and there was barely a second to react to its assault.

Its arm stretched incredibly, impossibly, and if he hadn't stepped back in the right moment, Wesker was sure that it would have crushed him just like the broken carrier on the floor.

Annette gasped as the arm almost touched them, pulling at his shoulder to regain her balance. "You stand a better shot of hitting it from here," she said in a low voice, "I'll save my bullets for close range."

She was right; there was no sense in her wasting ammo with her poor marksmanship. They needed every single bullet they had left to down the creature. It turned out that Annette didn't have to wait long. The bandersnatch crossed the distance between them with three great strides, and Wesker barely managed to pull the trigger twice in that time. One bullet hit it in the shoulder, the other in its upper body. It didn't even seem to notice them. In the next moment it was standing before him, so close that he could feel its decaying breath on his skin. He could see the veins bulging on its arm, its skin coated in some smeary ooz.

It seemed to eye him up, and Wesker didn't dare move, as if the thing successfully hypnotized him. When it broke the stare, instants later, he felt a heavy blow connect with his chest, sending him flying down the corridor.

"Albert!" Annette shouted from a distance. The bandersnatch must have turned on her, because he could hear gunshots before he even regained his vision completely. Collapsed against a corridor wall, Wesker gasped for air and turned on his stomach, trying to shake off the nausea that crept up in the back of his mind. With terror he realized that his hand was empty. He located the gun a few feet away, kicked out of his grasp during the flight. With the wall as support he was on his feet again, stumbling to pick up the weapon from where it lay.

Only then did he return his attention to the fight, surveying the situation from this seemingly safe distance. Despite the lack of training and her obvious hysteria, Annette managed to deal her attacker some damage. Her first bullet buried itself in its face and it seemed to be stunned, wounded even, but before she had fired her second shot it tackled her clumsily. As she fell back, she shot again, hitting its malformed arm.

"Hey!" he heard himself yelling. That got the bandersnatch's attention. It stopped midway of picking Annette apart and turned to him like a curious child. Two bullets to the torso were enough of an invitation to divert it completely, but by then Wesker wasn't so convinced about the wisdom of his plan anymore. The bandersnatch didn't play along. It roared in mockery, raised its balled fist into the air and brought it down with frightening speed. On Annette.

He was already running to them, gun aimed at the monster, down to what he thought were the last five shots of the current magazine. Annette managed to roll away from its immediate strike, but as she came up on all fours again it was evident that she had not evaded all the damage.

Wesker's eyes widened, still running, still shooting, until he found himself up front with the creature, emptying lead into a seemingly resistant body. The bandersnatch hissed and in the next instant it wrapped its massive hand around his waist. Wesker felt his feet being lifted off ground as the grip around his body tightened to a maximum. Momentarily the image of the crushed corpse in the hallway blocked out every pain transmitted by his nerve endings. Good God, it couldn't end that way!

His bones bent beneath the thing's iron grip and it had to squeeze just a little harder to break them. Behind him, he barely registered as Annette threw herself forward, pressed the gun right against the thick skin of the bandersnatch's arm and began unloading bullet after bullet, her cheeks flushed red. Eventually the monster loosened its grip with a pained howl, filthy blood streaming from its arm as Wesker connected with the cold floor. His midsection on fire he rolled out of range, lest the BOW strike again.

Annette didn't seem to mind him; she just readjusted her aim and kept firing until there was nothing left in the chamber to shoot with. Then she threw the empty weapon at its head, simultaneously kicking out with all her strength at the creature's kneecap.

"Annette..." he started, his voice low, shaky. At some point the bandersnatch had given in. He stood from where he was and put a restraining hand on her shoulder."It's dead, it's dead... stop..."

Something in her seemed to pull back at this, and she sank to the floor, sitting down clumsily and cross legged. She held her head in her hands for a moment, letting her breathing return to normal.

"Ok..." she whispered, "Ok." And then. "God, I killed it."

"It's alright."

"I murdered it. I was… it was like a frenzy." She repeated, "Oh God."

"You saved our lives," he said. "There's nothing wrong about that."

"I know." She laughed. It was a short, croaky sound. "It's a bad time for my conscience to come knocking."

Wesker changed topics. He eyed her up. There wasn't a lot of damage he could see, bruises and small cuts ignored. Still he asked, "Are you alright?"

There was a pause before she answered, as if she wasn't sure. "I think so."

"Did it get you?"

"No. It just scuffed me. I was quick enough. What about you?"

"I'm fine," he said, although he could feel the Hunter wound stream blood underneath the kevlar. The bandersnatch's harsh treatment hadn't done it any good. Nonetheless he stood straight and pointed into the corridor ahead.

Annette nodded before he could speak up. "I know. We need to get going."

"There's no way back," he reminded her.

"It can't be far now," Annette agreed hopefully, but Wesker wasn't even sure where they were any more, only that they'd covered what seemed like a huge distance since entering the complex.

While they walked, he kept counting to fifteen, over and over again. It was a way of distraction from the monotonous walk, from the ache in his side, and a constant reminder to the number of bullets they had left. They had both spent a clip each on the bandersnatch. Annette's weapon was completely empty and he was down to their last fifteen shots, wondering whether that would be enough to get them out of this grave.

It was like a countdown. The question was: what happened when they reached zero?

He was glad Annette didn't try to bring up a conversation. Unnecessary noise might mean unnecessary trouble, he reasoned. They rounded a corner into yet another interminably long corridor. But this one was different, somehow. At the end was a large door, ornate and wholly out of place in the brutally clinical surroundings.

"Albert!" Annette exclaimed in a volume that could attract all remaining BOWs to their position. "This must be the exit! The exit! I think that's the way to the aircraft hangar!"

"Keep your voice low," he warned, but was not entirely against the possibility. She could be right. He recalled there being a courtyard on the other side of such a door which contained a passageway to the subterranean airport.

Hastening his pace to reach the door, Wesker retrieved the gun and grabbed the doorknob. "There could be carriers outside," he suggested, looking at her with warning. "We might have to run."

She nodded and they both took a deep breath. With their minds made up and ready for the worst possible scenarios, Wesker turned the knob. It didn't budge. He tried again, forcing it. It didn't open. There was no lock to pick or keycard to slip through.

"It's locked," he said and reasoned he could have said 'we're dead' too. It had the same effect on his spirits.

"Shit," Annette cursed. "There has to be another way."

"I didn't see any."

"There has to. This can't be the end."

"It looks like it," he said flatly. "It's the very definition of a dead end."

Just as he was about to ask her for the map, there was a sudden piercing noise, and then a voice said to them, _"Congratulations." _

It came from the intercom over their heads and Wesker felt a surge of anger wash over him as he realized just who the voice belonged to.

* * *

**One of two semester exams are done, so here's a story update in celebration. After a short oneshot excursion into the RE5 universe ("sepultus") we're back preMansion, where zombies still existed and there was no optional infinite ammo button. Knife the monster, baby!**


	11. Chapter XI

Chapter XI

"Congratulations."

The voice piping into the corridors started laughing, a high pitched, unhinged giggle. "I didn't expect you to get this far..." it taunted, "Although, I must admit, your journey has been most entertaining."

More laughter. Clearly he was enjoying himself.

Annette clenched her fists in anger and looked at Wesker, her eyes burning. "Ashford, you're a fucking dead man."

Somehow the intercom had to work both ways around, because Alfred promptly answered to her threat. "We will see who dies first Mrs Birkin..."

The words literally dripped with hatred and Annette found herself wondering just what this inbred high-class had in mind for them. With Alfred, she could imagine a lot of things. All of the possibilities scared her. Alfred was a man not to be underestimated. He had a short span of attention and an even shorter one of patience. Operating from behind his holy family name he could get away with most anything. Annette didn't know if he could go scot-free on this, but as things stood, she wasn't sure if she would be there to view the outcome of the verdict.

In front of Wesker something clicked, and they both jumped back in surprise.

"The door," Wesker said and looked at her uneasily.

"Did he unlock it?" she wondered. If he did, nothing good would wait for them on the other side. With horror she realized that they were still as far away from the subterranean airport as they had been when they had stepped out of their rooms.

Over the intercom Alfred laughed, "Go on, go on! They're hungry! Don't let them wait!"

"Go to Hell!" Annette yelled, her voice echoing round the corridors. She could feel Wesker's hand on her shoulder.

"Don't provoke him," her companion warned in a hushed voice. Annette's anger didn't ebb away. She clenched and unclenched her fists, staring dumbfounded at the intercom device mounted on the wall.

"Enjoy yourselves," Alfred said and the transmission crackled. "…you deserve this."

Then the line was dead. Annette waited a minute, then another one, and another one. Finally, not caring whether Alfred heard them or not, she said: "Fucking son of a bitch! Who does he think he is?"

Wesker cracked a sympathetic smile. "An Ashford."

"Spare me your irony, Albert," she snapped, although she didn't mean to unload her distress on Wesker. Of all the people, he was the only one she could trust in that moment. She dropped her shoulders and mumbled, "Sorry."

"Don't worry. But we should press on."

Annette's eyes bulged. "I am _not_ playing his sick little game! We don't have to take this route. We can find another way round, everything's interconnected in this place. We can backtrack… get to the courtyard… hope for the best…"

Wesker remained adamant. "We have fifteen bullets and a knife to get off the island. Backtracking is not an option."

As if in response to his statement there was a low hissing sound,coming from the ventilation holes running along where the walls met the floor.

Wesker took Annette's arm, pulling her to the door. "I don't want to know what that is," he said, his other hand on the doorknob. "We'll do what he says, just this time." Then, he sighed and his shoulders sagged. "I can't take on another BOW. Not now."

It was only then that Annette took the time to properly look at her companion. Blood dripped from underneath the kevlar vest. Wesker was just as bruised and battered as her. He had reverted from fighting to running and tried to bring the amiable response across that if she wanted to survive she was recommended to do the same.

Still, Annette tried to pull her arm back, panicked. "No, we're not..." she trailed off and her face fell in resignation. "Maybe he's not really planning on killing us. He might just want to scare us a bit, stop us from going to Spencer…"

It was, in truth, an unlikely notion. After all, Alfred had been watching them all this time fighting for their lives and done nothing save, apparently, get off on it.

Wesker opened the door, bracing himself. But there was nothing there. Not a single form of life in sight, just the cool, darkened courtyard with its smooth stone floors. There were a few doors, and some stone steps leading down into darkness, presumably some kind of underground passage. They began to try each door in turn. Annette couldn't say she was surprised to find all of them locked. For a moment, she considered the idea that they might shoot one of the locks open, but they were all heavy, iron wrought structures, and she didn't want to risk wasting bullets on nothing and possibly injure themselves.

The only way from here was either going back or descending the stone stairs. It wasn't a huge stretch of the imagination to figure out what Alfred wanted them to do. He had them where he wanted them, and Annette doubted that he'd let them go before the game ended.

Wesker nodded towards the stairs. "Do you want to split up the ammo?"

She sighed and pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Why don't you keep ten, and I'll take five," she suggested, gesturing towards the clip. Looking down into the dark stairwell, she shivered. "We can still go back, you know?"

"We can't go back," Wesker said as he transfered the bullets. "I told you in the beginning, this is a way with no return. My words still apply. Here." He gave her back her gun. "No unnecessary shooting. These are our last."

Annette sighed. They had no choice but to play and hope that somehow they'd be able to outsmart Alfred, survive, find some weakness in his scheme and exploit it. After all, he was just an eighteen year old kid.

Wesker began to descend the stairs slowly and Annette followed closely on his heels, holding onto the wall to keep her bearings, blinking as they were plunged into darkness. When they reached the bottom, it was pitch black.

"Well, what now?" she wondered aloud. And in answer to her question, low lights began coming on one after the other, dimly illuminating a long, dank, stone corridor.

Alfred's voice rang over a hidden intercom. He said, "Let's play Hide and Seek," and then laughed in such a high pitched tone that made Annette want to cover her ears. Before the transmission ended he added, "I love that game."

Annette felt a cold drop of sweat trickle its way down her spine. All of a sudden she felt sick, wanted to bend over. She had been able to cope with the outbreak. Survival instincts, adrenaline, call it what you want. But this… this went beyond human sanity. There had been no coherent thought in the carriers and the monsters, just basic feeding instinct. This was cold, calculated malice and that scared her more.

Some way ahead, where the green light was too weak to illuminate the corridor completely, there was a corner, and the way continued to the left.

Stopping, Annette looked around, and began to speak. "Alfred...if you can hear me, this... this has gone on long enough, ok?" She hesitated. "Look, you've made your point, and this doesn't have to go any further if you call this off now. We'll see to it that you keep your facility. Just... stop this before if gets out of control."

Alfred never answered. Wesker shook his head and pointed his weapon down the corridor. "It's of no use. He won't listen. Come on."

They rounded the far corner and she felt her legs refuse to go on. Now she finally understood what Alfred had in mind. In front of them there was a maze of intersections. It was the perfect place to play Hide and Seek.

"Well," Annette said with a shaky laugh, "At least now we know where all the money went that wasn't accounted for in the budget..."

Her weak attempt at humour was cut short by a low rumbling as somewhere behind them, a door opened. She looked around, just as something barked. The sound was joined by another, and another.

"Cerberus..." Wesker whispered, choking as he whirled around to meet their new attackers. Dogs had been one of the first test subjects for T and the virus did remarkably well on them. It transformed them into relentless killing machines. They knew no pain and would not abandon their prey as long as their bodies were still intact. All the pride she had felt for this particular project over the years vanished within seconds.

Just as a bloodied flash of tan and black fur careered around the corner Wesker grabbed her arm and pulled. "RUN!"

Her heart skipped a beat at the bark echoing through the stone corridor. She could tell by the sound the claws made on the floor that it was definitely more than one. They passed the first intersection and Annette looked over her shoulder, seeing three of the hellhounds on their heels. When they passed the second forking a Cerberus leapt out from a side corridor, missing them only by inches.

The place was a maze of twists and turns and soon she had completely lost her bearings. Wesker ran resolutely, but she doubted that he knew where he was going. Which was obviously what Alfred had intended when he designed this dungeon in the first place.

They rounded a corner and Wesker stopped suddenly, pulling Annette against the wall. He indicated for her to be silent and listened out for any sign of the dogs. There was no sound. The two exchanged a worried glance before Wesker ushered her to go on. They didn't have all the time in the world.

It wasn't long before they passed a bloodied streak on the wall and Annette swallowed hard, wondering how many prisoners Alfred had sent down here. How many times had he sat and watched those half starved men from the cell blocks stumble their way through here only to eventually become prey to one of Umbrella's creations? And all for his own amusement.

She felt like a rat in a trap as they wandered from corridor to corridor, searching for a way out.

As they passed onto a larger path she forgot about the thought as soon as she heard the familiar clicking against the cold, stone floor. Behind them, coming out of another hallway, ran one of the Cerberi, mouth wide open as if it wanted to swallow them whole. Wesker pushed Annette onward, took aim at the dog and let one shot fly before taking off after her. There was a pained whimper from behind, but Annette was too busy running to care looking.

That was one down...one possibly down, and she had no idea how many more they'd have to face. And then she heard barking, the sound of multiple growls chorusing.

She tried to run faster, away from them, but then the first ones showed. Three dogs rounded the corner behind them, building up speed to catch their prey. Wesker led them into a side corridor, and Annette felt as if luck had finally found its way to Rockfort Island.

"The door!" she yelled, stepping up and beginning to rattle at the doorknob. To no avail. The thing was locked tight as she pushed and heaved and tried desperately to budge it.

"Come _on!"_ she screamed as the dogs started gaining on them, hurtling towards them with frightening speed. Turning around with her back pressed against the door she pulled out her gun, but before she could fire there was the sound of that laughter again, high pitched and more sinister every time they heard it.

"They found you, they found you!" Alfred yelled over the intercom. Then the door clicked and Wesker pushed her through before she could even realize what just happened. He slammed it shut behind them, leaning back and breathing heavily as the dogs barked outside.

The door clicked again, and Annette felt a little sick as he looked around the room. It was a low ceilinged, featureless stone room, with one other door. Running forward, Annette tried it, but it was locked. With an impatient sigh, she looked at Wesker.

"Are you ok?" she asked. Before he could answer, the intercom crackled to life.

"Well done," Alfred's voice came piping over, bubbling with glee. "You've reached the end of the game. Are you ready to collect your prize?" He began to laugh again as there was a hissing sound. Something shifted within the walls, giving way to a series of small, previously concealed holes all the way around the room, which began to emanate some kind of green gas.

She tried not to breathe it in, but she could only go so long without oxygen. Was it something lethal, was Alfred finally bored of his game? There was no way to escape his newest scheme, the last level of this sick game. Annette inhaled the gas with a gasp, and managed to lock eyes with Wesker before the darkness wrapped around her.


	12. Chapter XII

**Massive, massive, _massive_ warning. Torture, gore, this is your full M-rated chapter. Skip if you're uncomfortable with reading this.**

* * *

Chapter XII

The first logical conclusion in her mind was that they had died, suffocated from lack of oxygen. Annette tried to put a hand to her head, to ease the pressure, but found that she couldn't move. First signs of panic registered. She tried to lift her head, to look up, but the place was too dark, and all she could make out were shadows. A rush of adrenaline came over her and Annette blinked the remaining darkness away rapidly. Before her was a stone wall, no windows, no doors and she realized why she couldn't move. Her wrists and ankles were shackled tightly to what felt like a large table, her body stretched taught, preventing all but the most bare minimum of movement. It caused an enormous strain on her injuries and she realized in terror that her gun was gone, and Wesker was nowhere in sight.

Some minutes passed in forced silence. She didn't dare speak, afraid that her voice would give her away to whoeever had waited for her to wake. Her rapid breathing and her pounding heart were the only sound filling her ears. Eventually she heard a whisper, and tensed.

"Annette?"

"Albert?"

She began to sob quietly at the sound of another voice in the room, tears spilling down her cheeks as she blinked them away. She bit back another wave of nausea, the taste of the gas still in her mouth.

"Are you...ok? Can you move?" she asked hopefully.

"No," his voice was full of anger and frustration, and she could hear the rattle of metal chains.

The struggle stopped abruptly. Annette squeezed her eyes closed as the room went from black to blinding, the sudden illumination cutting short her sobs. When she opened her eyes again she could finally make out the details of the room. The first thing she saw was Wesker hanging in his chains, and she gasped a little. He looked utterly dreadful, almost broken..His face was turned away from her, but his body was braced in pain, the tips of his boots barely touching the ground as he struggled in his bonds at the sudden change in their environment. Somewhere to her right she heard a grinding noise, as if a heavy metal door had just been opened.

And then she saw that horribly familiar red jacket, and her eyes went wide in horror. Familiar laughter filled the room.

"Welcome to the final round..."

"Alfred..." she began to babble, "Alfred this is enough, let us out. We've played this game long enough, you've gone too far. You can't seriously..." she trailed off as he picked up what looked like some kind of heavy metal impliment.

"Come now, Mrs Birkin," he said, a look of deranged delight on his face, and she still couldn't bear to believe that a person was capable of such things. Alfred proved her wrong "Are you really begging so soon? We're hardly even started." And with another burst of laughter, he swung the metal rod forcefully, impacting with Wesker's already torn stomach.

She wanted to scream, but found herself paralyzed, her eyes unable to leave the sadistic spectacle. Wesker yelled and lashed out at his attacker, more than once slipping on his own blood and falling against the chains. There was a second and a third blow. Alfred stood half turned away from her. In the light his face took on demonic traces, his lips curling up in satisfaction whenever his prisoner cried out.

Eventually Alfred ceased in his game and turned towards her, bloody rod swinging lazily. "Are you enjoying this as much as I do, Mrs Birkin?"

"Stop it!" she sobbed at him. She struggled wildly, but it was useless. Desperately, she craned her head, trying to see if Wesker was still conscious, still breathing. "Why...?"

"Oh, I think you know exactly why." Alfred suddenly stopped smiling, and his face darkened with rage. "You come here with the intention of taking away my power... you... you two forced me to do it, to let that carrier out to show you... and it's all your fault, it's your fault that my facility is overrun! And you're going to pay for it, dearly."

With a snarl, he strode over to what looked like some kind of mechanical device. She couldn't see properly as he turned a lever, but then suddenly, slowly, she felt the pressure on her limbs increasing, stretching her muscles painfully as her joints cracked in protest. She started sobbing again both in pain and the realisation that, if he kept this up, she would be torn limb from limb.

This seemed to irritate Alfred, as he slapped her sharply across the face and turned his attentions back to Wesker. "Now, where were we?" he asked, his smile returning.

"This is madness, Alfred!" Wesker bellowed and Annette was shocked at the sound of his voice. No power or confidence emanated from it anymore. This was despair speaking. "Stop it while you still

can!"

"You're going to feel the pain you caused to me," Alfred snarled. "Both of you, I'm going to show you!"

Then came the fourth blow, and with it, Annette thought she heard the crack of his ribs. He screamed, twisting in the bonds. He was mad with pain, and she wanted to tell him so dearly that struggling was only bringing more agony. Alfred hit him two more times, then the cries stopped. In the back of her head, mixed with nausea and fear, she hoped he was dead.

Alfred put down the rod. She watched him with haunted eyes, but he didn't move as if he had fallen into some kind of trance. Annette craned her neck to get a better look at Wesker. Shit, was he still breathing? There was so much blood, he couldn't possibly still be alive… and suddenly the worry for him vanished altogether. Survival instict overrode fear. _She_ had to survive, _she_ had to get away, _her_ life was at stake now. Like a madman she began to tear at her bonds, her wrists and ankles going sore in the shackles.

Her escape attempt seemed to wake Alfred. He hovered over his torture instruments a moment longer, then made up his mind. When he turned to her, knife in hand, he smiled sympathetically.

"Did you ever cut yourself, Mrs Birkin?"

Annette shook her head frantically, Dozens of possibilities raced through her mind. God, god, god…

"Nonono..." she wept, "No, please, no..."

But he only smiled, a glint of pure madness glazing over his eyes. Slowly, almost gently, he ran the flat of the blade down the side of her tear-soaked cheek, before tracing it lightly over her throat and down over her chest, applying an even pressure as the blade bit into her skin, not deep enough to cause life threatening injury, just enough to create an explosion of stinging pain, a thin line that oozed crimson as he pressed down harder, taking his time and enjoying his work as blood started to flow steadily from the ever deepening wound. She gritted her teeth, hyperventilating.

Alfred stopped, smiled and she thought he was going to put the knife down, but then, with one swift, practiced motion, he plunged it into her right shoulder, the blade running all the way through, pinning her to the rack on the other side. She let out a strangled scream, howling frantically until she was hoarse, her vision swimming with pain. Alfred closed his eyes with an almost serene smile, as though he was listening to some particularly beautiful piece of music.

Annette couldn't see what was happening any more, couldn't move with the blade imbedded in her shoulder, couldn't do anything except take deep, struggling gasps of air and try to stay conscious. So she didn't catch the flash of contempt on Alfred's face, or see him pick up another knife and approach Wesker, this time poised for a kill.

"I'm bored of you," he announced flatly, petulantly. "Goodbye, Dr Wesker."

And with that, he stuck his knife in Wesker's stomach with an almost mechanical motion. Stepping over to one of his mechanisms, he pressed a button and the chains opened, letting the twitching body slump to the ground.

"Well," he announced with a smile as he approached Annette, "Now it's just the two of us, why don't we finish up our little game. It's late, and I really must be going soon." He giggled again to himself and she felt an overwhelming, crushing despair.

"You killed him?" she screamed, unable to even comprehend what had just happened, not even paying attention to what Alfred was busy preparing next.

"Fuck!" her shouts became insensible, sobbing cries, her eyes blinded with tears as she started to struggle again, ignoring even the knife that still tore at her shoulder. It couldn't end like this, it just...couldn't. If he'd killed Wesker, Wesker who'd saved her from numerous deaths, from infected and BOWs, what chance did she even stand? A sophisticated housewife against a deranged murderer? Annette cried and hoped that she would choke on her tears or be able to keep her breath long enough to suffocate. Any way of death was better than the one Alfred had prepared for her.

"It's a shame I have a schedule to keep," her new companion said in a singsong voice between fits of giggles. "Because I really could do this all day long."


	13. Chapter XIII

Chapter XIII

The pain that erupted in his stomach was similar to a volcanic outburst. Sudden, unexpected and with a magnitude to blow him off his feet. He opened his mouth to scream, but his voice was lost amidst the hot lava flowing out his body. Before he knew it he impacted with the cold stone floor, the bonds tying him upright suddenly loose. The clash was hard. Although his knees acted as buffer, his arms were too numb to respond to instinctive commands; his face connected with the ground unbraked, tongue cut by his teeth.

Free from the chains Wesker curled into a ball, wrapping clammy hands to the center of agony in his stomach. As his fingers touched the knife handle his eyes rolled up, the pain making him momentarily blind. So much blood and he could barely feel the tip of his fingers, numb from the chains and his previous treatment. Nausea gradually built in the back of his throat. It was hard to keep coherent thoughts together. His mind resembled a mixer, stirring at his logic until it made no more sense.

_something something gotta do something_

A scream rattled his nerves and he flinched, for a moment wondering if he was the source of the sound. But his voice was deeper and the cry came from far away. When it repeated, Wesker was sure someone else made it.

His eyes bulged and he craned his neck, oblivious to the pain the movement caused him. For the first time since their imprisonment he saw Annette. She was bound to what looked like a rack, arms and legs stretched to odd length. Two lightbulbs dangled above the wooden construct to ensure optimal visibility. Although he could see her body, something blocked Wesker's sight of her face. Alfred loomed, back turned to him, over his victim. He held some tool in his hand, probably trying to figure out where best to use it on Annette. The next second everything seemed painstakingly clear. Alfred thought he'd killed Wesker. Now he was about to do the same to Annette.

Wesker squeezed his eyes shut, touching around the knife in his stomach once more. If he could only pull it out, and use it as a weapon… but as soon as the thought properly registered in his mind, he knew that he wouldn't be able to do it. Medical tidbits raced by. Blood loss, shock. He'd collapse before he was halfway through the distance. That was it. Final decision. The knife would stay. At least for now.

Rolling over, Wesker gritted his teeth against crying out. The pain made him dizzy and physical effort didn't really help. He managed to get on all fours and nearly slipped in his own blood. Alfred didn't seem to notice. He was leading a rather monotonous conversation with Annette and too busy wielding another knife on her body.

Although he wanted nothing more than to help the woman, he had to leave Annette distract the Ashford boy until he found a way to successfully overcome Alfred. Scanning the room, his eyes fixed on a wooden drawer positioned to his right. Knives, whips and pokers were neatly aligned and discarded at the bottom lay the iron rod Alfred had used on him before.

Wesker began to crawl, every now and then looking towards the rack, every now and then looking at the alarming amount of red trail he left behind him. He still couldn't make out Annette's head, but from her continual crying and pleading he could tell she was alive.

An eternity passed until he reached Alfred's torture tools. The rod was warm with blood and Wesker felt sick at the thought that it belonged to him. He glanced at the rack. Red dripped from it, forming a small puddle beneath. Fingers closing around the rod, Wesker used the wooden construct to pull himself upright. He retched halfway through, his right leg buckling. Agonizing pain shot through his torso and he thought he could almost hear as bone ends grinded against each other. It was a miracle that Alfred didn't hear his groans.

Walking was an entirely different matter. With the chamber starting to turn, balance was impossible to keep. Closing his eyes against the dizziness almost made him fall over completely. Wesker used the rod to prop up against. Alfred was five, six steps away at the max.

_get moving_

The unspoken command was easier said than done. He took one step and stopped, bending over. Too many ribs had developed a life of their own. The knife seemed to cut right through to his spine. It was all or nothing.

He took the last four steps in a stumble, lunging the rod as he ran. By the time he reached Alfred he was screaming from pain and the Ashford twin had the time to turn around and mouth an 'oh' before the iron connected with the side of his head with a sickening crack. The man slumped to the ground without as much as a whimper.

Wesker let the rod drop and stepped over Alfred's body, searching the rack for support. He felt as if he could collapse beside the other man any moment.

Tied up in her own nightmare Annette continued to scream even as he set to unbuckle the restrains that kept her down.

"Shut up," he hissed, but the words barely even manifested as a whisper.

Still, it seemed to be enough to grip Annette's attention. "Albert?"

He didn't reply, focusing on her bonds instead. His vision was tunneling and he was already losing control of his motor skills. It was a matter of minutes until he'd black out.

"Oh my God…," Annette mumbled, repeating it like a mantra. "Oh my God… oh my God, Albert…"

Her words were slurring in his head. He got up to the third leather belt before he had to stop, closing his eyes and leaning heavily on the rack. Beads of sweat that hadn't been there before dripped in his eyes and made him blink.

"Oh God," Annette went on. He registered her sitting up and saying "Come on" but it was directed at the fourth restraint and not him.

He decided this was the perfect time to pull the curtains. His legs buckled under him, relieving him of the task to sit down. On the rack Annette cursed, but Wesker was too busy lying down on the floor to bother. The cold tiles felt refreshing against his back, but somehow the new position caused breathing to become problematic.

"Albert?"

Annette slid down from the rack, her knees giving way as she half sat, half collapsed on the floor next to him, narrowly missing landing on Alfred's unconscious form. He could feel his blood pooling on the floor and soaking through his trousers. Or was it her blood? He couldn't even tell any more. Without his consent she started to work on his stomach. He moaned and pushed her away.

"Stop."

"You're going to bleed to death," she reasoned, fidgeting with his wounds.

He pushed her away again and repeated, since she didn't seem to understand. "Stop."

She got it this time around and moved away. For a terrible moment he thought she'd left completely, but when he turned his head he could see her sitting beside him, hunched over, struggling with whatever wounds Alfred had inflicted on her. Tears rimmed her eyes and she sobbed quietly.

He felt himself forced to ask, "Are you badly hurt?"

Annette shook her head, but her answer was contradictory. "We're gonna die down here."

And then she began to laugh, a hoarse giggle at first, which exploded into something horrible, hysterical, bitter and painful, pulling her arms tightly across her chest as she tried to stop but couldn't.

Her laughter reminded him of Alfred, Alfred, who he had probably killed, Alfred, who he didn't regret killing. It was terrifying. He stayed still, listening to Annette and her approach of coping with what had just happened. He gulped, not being able to rid himself of the metallic taste in his mouth. Even swallowing hurt, encouraging blackness to fade in at the edge of his vision. Groaning, Wesker tried to rid his mind of the darkness. There were many battles, and he lost some of them.

The next time his senses returned, Annette's cries had faded. She was still sitting beside him, rocking back and forth silently. Tentatively he let his fingers slip over his stomach. Some of the blood had clotted, but he clumsily touched the knife. Whatever crust had formed around it spurted new blood.

Something dully protesting in the back of his mind told him that he wanted to get up and run, and keep running until there was nothing left of Rockfort island but a bad memory, but even just breathing was taking up all of his concentration.

And Annettes' voice broke the silence with those two little words which meant the whole world at that moment, "It's… over…" she whispered, closing her eyes with a violent shudder. "Oh God…"

She didn't seem to grasp the importance of escape. Staying here, nothing would be over apart from their lives. He told her this.

"I... I can't go," he admitted, defeat clearly in his tone. "Not now... not like... this."

It should have been a prompt for Annette to leave, but she didn't move an inch. He hadn't taken the time to look her over until now. She was bruised and bloody and he dearly hoped that not all of the crimson soaking her clothes belonged to her. He explained her continued presence not as an act of solicitude, but one of need. Even if she wanted, perhaps she couldn't go. And he realized that walking out of the room would be the least of their problems. Where were they? They could be on the other end of the island, perhaps not even on Rockfort anymore. And they had no weapons. Wesker didn't look up to scan the room, but the gun and kevlar were gone for good, hidden away by Alfred someplace only he knew.

They sat for another while in silence, lacking both the power and reason to speak.

But when the metal door at the other end of the room sprung open forcefully, Wesker jolted at the sound, delusionally seeing Alfred resurrected from the dead to come and finish his macabre game.

But Alfred remained unmoving somewhere to his left and the room exploded into salvo of lights and voices. Footsteps treaded the ground like an army marching to war. In the next instant Wesker was blinded by a torch and by the time his eyes recovered from the light, he was looking into the barrel of a gun. He tried to search for a face, but he could only see a gas mask looming over him, swimming in and out of focus and he slowly raised his bloodied hands, announcing his defeat to whatever new obstacle fate had in mind for them.

Beside him Annette whispered, "Don't shoot."

But when the gun wouldn't go away, she took a deep breath and screamed it at the top of her voice, the most important thing in the world at that moment. "DON'T SHOOT!"

Then, everything went quickly. The gun stayed where it was, but someone pushed him on his back and he gave a groan of protest. There was a prick in his arm and then pressure to his stomach, too many hands working on his body to let him comprehend who did what. The last coherent thought on his mind was that they must have given him some form of sedative, because sweet darkness claimed him moments later.

* * *

**Hey guys, I want to take this moment and apologize for the lack of updates and review replies. You'd think that with exams over there would be more free time, but somehow I end up busy all day and too tired for fanfiction at night. **

**So I want to thank everyone who's taking the time to read this and leave a feedback. There's two more chapters coming, then a short break and then a new story which is already in the works. But details on that later. ;)**


	14. Chapter XIV

Chapter XIV

Annette stirred a little in her sleep. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realised that someone was touching her head, but then she'd been drugged and moved around, bandaged and stitched and injected and she hadn't opened her mouth to complain, just overwhelmingly grateful in her rare moments of consciousness.

She opened her eyes slowly, the room going in and out of focus until her mind readjusted and the next thing she knew she was opening her eyes to a bright light screaming in her vision. Groaning, she tried to move, but found that she couldn't and strangely this fact didn't bother her as much as it should have. Everything hurt, her whole body was aching and throbbing, but there was something fuzzy at the edge of her perception, something that stopped the pain from being as bad as it should have been and she welcomed it.

She was surrounded by warmth, a clean smell of antiseptic and something soft propping her head. And then she remembered what had happened, the men and the guns and before that...everything and a knot formed in her chest through her painkiller fuelled confusion and she tried to move her head, suddenly feeling sick.

"Albert...?" she slurred, sinking back and letting her eyes close for just a second.

A nurse hurried to her side and put a soothing hand on Annette's own. "Everything's okay," she said slowly. "Dr Wesker is sleeping. You're in safety now... just relax."

Annette blinked at the strange woman in front of her. Unable to comprehend how, or why she was suddenly here, she mumbled aloud, "Are we home...?"

A gentle hand pushed some loose strands of hair out of her face. "You're in a hospital now. Your friend is right here." She moved out of the way somewhat, so Annette could see.

With a groan Annette half sat up in bed, watching Wesker's steady breathing in the bed on the other side of the room. Apart from the nurse they were alone. There were two doors and a window, but Annette was still too dazed to really take in the details. The nurse gave her a pat on the shoulder and she complied, lying back down.

"You should rest some more," the woman instructed, gave her a reassuring smile and left the room.

Annette resisted the urge to call her back. She didn't want to be alone... she couldn't bear the silence at the moment, the solitude that forced horrible images into her mind whenever she wasn't distracted.

She didn't know how long she lay, staring at the clinical white walls and reliving the past twenty four hours. She must have fallen asleep at one point, because the next time she opened her eyes the moon dimly illuminated the window. In a rush of panic Annette looked over at the neighbouring bed. For a moment, she had feared she was alone, some new chapter in Alfred's game. But Wesker was still there, and this time, he was awake.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," she told him back. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel great. I've never been happier to wake up in a hospital." He smiled a little, but his next words were filled with concern. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine..." she said perhaps a little too quickly. "Glad to be home." She smiled that smile, the much-too-bright one that she reserved for when she was feeling utterly dreadful and trying to hide it at all costs. The one that got her through countless early morning board meetings after she'd been up all night with Will, trying to calm him down when things went wrong in the lab. Wesker didn't question it, but he probably saw right through.

"They told me we're in a hospital close to the coast," he explained instead. "Our condition was too bad to transport us directly to Raccoon, but I've been assured it's only a matter of days until we can go home."

"Okay," Annette said, then paused. "Thank you." The two words really weren't enough to convey how grateful she was to him, for everything. She was in no doubt that she'd have been dead several times over were it not for Wesker. She tried to find something to say to make him understand that, but it seemed like far to big a task. "Thank you..." she repeated again, softly.

Wesker settled with a silent nod, propping himself up in bed. She didn't know if he was intending to respond or not, because at that moment the door to their room opened, and a man dressed in a black suit stepped in. Annette looked at the newcomer for a moment, puzzled by his sudden presence. He wasn't a doctor...or at least, he wasn't dressed like one. She guessed he was in his forties. He had two pens in the front pocket of his suit and carried a brown leather briefcase. He was obviously some sort of business type. She briefly wondered if he was from insurance and came to tell them that their department wouldn't pay for the costs of their hospital stay. It seemed a little far fetched, but you never know.

The man nodded at them both in turn as he set his attache case on a nearby plastic table. "Dr Birkin, Dr Wesker. It's good to see you awake again. How are you feeling?"

"Have...we met?" Annette asked, searching his face for some kind of familiarity.

He smiled thinly and shook his head. "My name is James Grey, I'm with internal investigations." He pulled up a chair between the two beds and sat down, producing a notepad. "If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a few questions about your...ah...time at Rockfort."

She wanted to tell him that yes, she damn well minded, but she just nodded silently, hoping that he wouldn't ask her to go into too much detail, and that this was simply just a case of checking boxes where procedure was concerned.

Wesker nodded in approval for the interview to begin, and she felt sure he wanted this over and done with as much as she did.

Grey nodded and flipped his notebook open. "We'll start easy," he said, looking first at Annette, then at Wesker. "Did you notice anything unusual after your arrival on the island? Before the... accident, I mean?"

"You mean besides the fact that Alfred was clearly mentally ill, completely incompetent and blatantly using company resources for his own amusement while producing absolutely nothing of worth?" Annette asked. "No, everything seemed pretty much above board."

She winced a little at the expression on Grey's face. It probably wasn't the most tactful way of going about things, but she wasn't exactly in the mood for diplomacy.

"And you, Dr Wesker?"

"Apart from what Dr Birkin already said..." Wesker began, approaching things with a little more composure than Annette. "The laboratories weren't producing anything useful. They hardly compare to the Arklay facility. It seemed as if Ashford infected Umbrella prisoners at random, simply for his pleasure. But overall, the facility seemed safe. Safe enough for an outbreak of such scale not to go unnoticed."

Grey nodded, and wrote it down. Then he asked, "What happened later? When the evacuation alarms were launched?"

Annette shook her head, half struggling to remember. It seemed like an age ago. "I don't know... I was sleeping, then the sirens went off, and everything was chaos outside... I knocked on Dr Wesker's door and we went to investigate and... there were already carriers everywhere. In the residence, in the courtyard... it was a full scale outbreak. We tried to make our way to where Ashford kept his plane,

hoping there would be some kind of evacuation procedure, but there were too many of them..." She bit her lip. "...so we ended up going through the labs instead." She looked at Wesker, hoping he'd finish off the story, not wanting to relive what had happened next.

Thankfully, he obliged. "We barricaded the entrance to the labs and managed to find a way to the control place had a map and we headed into the direction of the underground airport. On the way there... there were a few obstacles. An encounter with one of the MA-121s and another BOW. It was an original Rockfort creation. I don't remember its name."

"The Albinoid," Grey offered. "We already wondered about the origin of yours and Dr Birkin's injuries. A Hunter. Impressive. And you killed it?"

Wesker nodded and Annette shuddered. They'd been damn lucky. Grey urged them on. "What happened next?"

Annette glanced at Wesker doubtfully. "We were both in really bad shape, I was unconscious by that point. Dr Wesker got me to safety and barricaded us in a storeroom. We rested briefly and then carried on. There was another BOW a...Bandersnatch?" Grey nodded in recognition of the name, so she carried on. "It attacked us and we killed it, and then we were almost out of the labs when..." her fists tightened at the memory, "...when we heard Ashford's voice over the intercom, mocking us. He'd set up a series of traps in the underground part of the facility, and we had no choice but to..." she choked a little. "Well by that point there was no going back...and...and..."

Grey looked at her sharply. "Please, Dr Birkin, do go on. I'm intrigued to find out how much your story differs from Mr Ashford's..."

Wesker tensed, gripping into the covers. "Mr Ashford's story? But... that can't be."

Grey looked at him and raised an eyebrow, scribbling something on the paper. "Mr Ashford, yes. He's recovering just a few rooms away from here."

"He survived?" Wesker blurted out, and there was no mistaking the anger in his voice.

"He did indeed. But please, continue. There are a few things that need to be cleared up on this matter. We want to hear both sides' versions."

Wesker looked at Annette in confusion, a pang of worry crossing his features. Annette started to cry quietly, tears pricking her tired eyes and streaming down her cheeks. Alfred couldn't have survived. Wesker had killed him. She had seen the body.

Eventually, Wesker went on. "We took the only way possible, a stairwell leading down into some kind of stone labyrinth. There were Cerberus in there... five, possibly more. I managed to kill some before we could escape through another door. The next room was empty apart from an exit on the other side. But we never got that far... as soon as we left the Cerberus behind, gas started filling the room. We both lost consciousness. When we woke up again..." he stopped, and she could understand all too well why he didn't want to continue. Alfred's torture chamber had been the worst of it all. He'd humiliated them, hurt them, nearly killed them and that all for the sake of twisted pleasure.

Grey waited a few seconds, but upon not getting a response, he turned to Annette. "Mrs Birkin?"

The memory was too recent, the wounds too fresh. She didn't even know how to begin saying it out loud. With a quiet sob, she kept her eyes fixed on the view outside the window, took a deep breath, and spoke in a dead, flat little voice. "When we woke up he'd restrained us both. He came in, told us that the entire outbreak had been his doing, and then he..." she trailed off. "I don't want to go into what he did, but I'm sure you've already read the doctor's reports. In the end... he stabbed Dr Wesker and let him down, thinking he was dead, and started to... well he was going to... but..." her hands started to shake wildly as she clutched at the bedsheets to steady them, shaking her head over and over again as she didn't trust herself to speak any more.

"But I stopped him in time," Wesker finished for her. "I freed her, but I hardly remember what happened after that."

Grey nodded. "You lost quite an amount of blood. That's normal." He finished noting something down, the flipped the pad closed again and took a long look at both of them, not seeming to mind Annette's emotional crisis. "However, what you've told me deviates a lot from Mr Ashford's story, especially concerning the last points. He insists that he had to defend himself against you. That you wanted to eliminate him. And that's why...uh… he had to use the knife." He gestured to Wesker.

"That's fucking bullshit!" Annette yelled. "How can you even buy that crap? What about the other wounds?" She looked at the investigator in utter horror, searching for some sign that he was messing them around.

"Dr Birkin," Grey responded coldly, "It's more than probable that you both sustained your other injuries during the outbreak. Which is certainly a more plausible explanation than your story."

"You found us bleeding half to death in a torture chamber!" she yelled, her stomach knotting itself in a mix of anger, anxiety and disbelief. "You can't possibly be that obtuse!"

"Calm down," Grey said, giving her a cold glare. "What you had to go through was, by all means, not easy. But it creates a mental and emotional stress that might distort your perception. All your other injuries can very well be explained. The cuts on your skin, Dr Wesker's broken ribs, there are reasonable origins to the-"

"Stop talking," Wesker interrupted, now truly furious. "Just stop telling those lies. Broken ribs? He goddamn hit me with a metal rod! If anyone acted in self defense, then it was us, not Ashford!"

Grey gave an impassive gesture which looked suspiciously like a shrug and Annette gritted her teeth.

"Your story is incredibly far fetched," he said with what was close to a sneer. "Obviously I will question Mr Ashford in more detaiI about your accusations, but I would have imagined that, given the time you've had to get a story together, you would have been able to come up with something a little more...plausible."

"How can you...it's..." Annette stammered in sheer disbelief. "This is outrageous! After everything we've been through!"

He looked at her coldly. "Then I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, Dr Birkin, but we're looking, in all likelihood, at attempted murder charges here."

"What?" Wesker barked, as Annette stared open mouthed. It was getting more ridiculous by the minute. "Attempted murder, have you completely lost your senses! We were half dead by the time! What makes you think that we would chase Ashford through his facility in order to murder him when we were fighting for our own lives?"

"Well," Grey said. "It didn't stop you from attacking him with the metal rod you mentioned earlier, Dr Wesker."

"He tried to _kill_ us, don't you understand? What was I supposed to do, watch him burn her alive? What the hell did he tell you? I want to know exactly what he said!"

"Dr Wesker, I am not here to act as your go-between," Grey said, visibly irritated now. "Suffice to say, that you two were distinctly unwilling to listen to reason during the day, that you disappeared during the outbreak, and then you ran into him at the courtyard, forced him at gunpoint into the underground prison and made to kill him, at which point he grabbed a weapon, hit out with it in self defence, and then you, Dr Wesker, attacked him with the intent to kill while Dr Birkin attempted to restrain him." He cleared his throat and looked at Annette, "And quite frankly, given your husband's history with the late Alexia Ashford, and his much-publicised hatred of the family, is it really such a stretch of the imagination to believe that his wife would want the last remaining Ashford out of the way? We have a clear motive, and fairly obvious circumstantial evidence which corroborates Mr Ashford's story."

Wesker stared at Grey, shaking his head throughout the speech. "I refuse to listen to this anymore. Please leave the room." He gestured to the door. Grey seemed satisfied enough with what he had obtained and was more than happy to follow Wesker's bidding.

"I'll contact Spencer about this," Wesker said when they were alone again. "Attempted murder?" he echoed, barely able to restrain the fury. "That's a bad joke."

"How... why... how can he even be alive...?" Annette was still crying, her shoulders shaking. "This isn't fair... not after everything... how can they even think that?"

But she knew exactly how. Alfred was powerful and his family name still carried more weight than both of their influences combined. They were all with Umbrella; it was company policy to eliminate your rivals whenever the chance presented itself. Mysterious 'accidents' weren't uncommon. Annette only had to look across the room to be reminded of James Marcus and all the things her husband had never said, but had given away regardless.

"God...if Spencer won't back us up, we're..." it didn't bear thinking about. Umbrella had its own way of dealing with employee misconduct. And she didn't even want to think about the impact this would all have on William, and his standing within the company.

"Ashford or not, Alfred won't get away with this," Wesker said. "Spencer sent us there to investigate _against_ him, he will hardly change sides now, especially in regards to the destruction of a whole facility."

"How soon can you get in touch with Spencer?" she asked, desperately, realizing suddenly that despite her hopes, their nightmare wasn't over yet.


	15. Epilogue

Epilogue

He turned the page, his eyes going over the last few sentences of the chapter. Wesker smirked in satisfaction and continued with the book, wondering when exactly he'd had his last free day. It had to have been a long while ago. The novel had been dusty when he'd picked it up and although the bookmark indicated he'd read up to page twohundred and something he felt as if he'd never held it in his hands before. In a line of work like this one, crime fiction was not priority.

He sighed, moving into a more comfortable position on the couch. Two days after their referral to the hospital Wesker had been able to place first calls through to Spencer. He'd personally visited the head of the company the day he and Annette had been transferred back to Raccoon. Suffice to say, bureaucracy was a complicated matter within Umbrella, especially when so many high-rankers were affected. Spencer opted for the explanation that he 'couldn't openly accuse anyone of deliberately causing a high-grade outbreak'. In truth, Alfred's name weighed more than the crimes he had supposedly commited.

Groaning, Wesker propped himself up on the pillow. While the broken ribs were recovering nicely, any kind of movement still meant a lot of pain. He'd made sure to stock up his fridge after he got back, and with more than enough food in the house, leaving the flat seemed like unnecessary torture. He mostly kept to the couch and bed, the only other locations he visited being kitchen and bathroom.

Besides, most of the time he found himself zoning out or sleeping, his body requesting the rest it needed after the treatment he'd put it through. Most sleeps were heavy and dreamless, something that he was very thankful for. He knew that sooner or later the nightmares would come, an inevitable process to cope with the hell he'd been through. The doctors had given him plenty of pills to swallow and so far they did their job. He trailed his finger across his jaw absentmindedly, making a mental note to shave in the morning. He hadn't bothered for the past few days.

A sudden noise rattled him from his thoughts and only when the bell rang a second time did he realize that someone was standing on the other side of the door. Curiosly Wesker eyed the clock on the wall, furrowing a brow. It was almost nine in the evening. He wasn't expecting any guests and Umbrella contacts rarely came at such a late hour. He'd told Spencer that he'd take some days off, too.

The bell rang a third time and Wesker put the book aside, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. The movement educed a hiss and his steps to the door were a lot more cautious afterwards. Taking off the chain and unlocking the door, Wesker blinked in surprise at the figure standing before him.

"Annette?"

"Hi..." she said coyly. And at the confusion on his face she added. "Don't worry... no emergencies this time. It's just a social call." She smiled brightly, but it struck him as a little false. "I was passing and I thought I'd pop by and see how you were recovering."

Wesker tried to smile, making her believe that he bought the blatant lie. It wasn't hard to tell that something was wrong. The last time he'd seen Annette had been a week ago at the hospital. He'd given her a heads up on the murder charges over the phone, but that was it. Annette's cheeks were sunken, dark circles rimming her eyes. Although makeup covered most of it he was pretty sure she had been crying not long ago.

Taking a step back from the door, Wesker gestured inside. "Please come in. I wasn't expecting anyone, so you'll have to excuse the mess."

Annette passed him with a mumbled thankyou and from the way her clothes hung over her shoulders it looked like she had lost some weight since the last time he'd seen her. He wondered if William had noticed and decided to give his old partner a call in the morning.

"Have a seat," he offered, indicating the couch. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"Please, don't worry. I'm sorry to drop in on you like this... I should have called first or something." She laughed, "Spur of the moment decision and all that." With a little cough, she looked around as she sat down. "Coffee would be nice."

"I'll put some up."

Five minutes later they were both sitting on the couch, steaming cups in hand. Annette hadn't said another word and Wesker thought the best way to handle the situation was to let her take her time. She had obviously come for a reason.

Annette cleared her throat. "Did you… did you talk to Spencer? I got a letter saying the charges had been dropped but…" She shook her head. "William is going mental about the whole thing. He wants to see Ashford hung."

That was no surprise. It was no secret that William Birkin fostered a deep hatred towards Alexia Ashford before. Recent events would give him enough fuel to keep the Birkin-Ashford feud boiling for generations to come.

"Alfred hides behind family name," Wesker said. "Spencer believes our side of the story, but there is very little he can do to punish Alfred without endangering the company. There will be some tighter controls on Rockfort, but Alfred gets to keep his facility on the understanding that nothing like this ever happens again."

Annette closed her eyes and sighed, "I feared as much." She wrung her hands anxiously, "But we won't ever have to see him again, right?"

"If I ever set foot on Rockfort, it will be to blow the place up," Wesker replied with a grim smile. The tone in his voice was half-joking, but there was a part of him that swore he'd take Alfred out one day. Like everything else, it was a matter of waiting for the right opportunity.

Annette laughed half-heartedly, before her face grew serious again. "How are your injuries?"

"I should make a full recovery in time. The scars will be the only souvenier I'll keep."

"That, and all the nightmares," Annette added, wincing. "I'd give anything if I could just go to sleep at night and be able to close my eyes and forget about it."

He hesitated before he spoke. "Give it some time." He shrugged, "If you ever want to talk about it…"

"Sure…thanks," She responded quickly and set the untouched coffee cup on the table. "I'd better get going before William attempts to use the microwave. He already broke one in our absence."

Wesker shook his head. "It's a wonder he's still alive. Best regards to him. Perhaps I'll drop by one of these days, have a look at the project that's got him so captivated at the moment."

Annette didn't reply immediately and he wondered whether he'd hit a soft spot. With William as the workoholic he was, married life probably left a lot to be desired. But that wasn't his cup of tea. William and Annette had to sort that one out themselve.

"I'll see you around, Albert," Annette said with a wan smile, getting to her feet.

He accompanied her to the door in silence, and she paused at the threshold one last time.

"Um…look…" she cleared her throat. "Thanks. For everything."

He gave her a smile, leaning against the open door. "I'd say I'd do it again any time, but I hope the situation won't present itself in the future."

"Yeah," Annette said as she stepped out into the apartment hallway. "I've got a feeling that was my first and last outbreak."

Wesker smirked as he gave her one last look, briefly debating whether that had just qualified as jinx or not.

"I hope you're right about that one, Annette."

* * *

**THE END**

* * *

**And it is done. I want to thank everyone who read this and hope the story was enjoyable for you. It definitely was for us when we wrote it.**

**There are a few hints to future outbreaks in this epilogue chapter, but for the sake of plot consistency this story is still to be considered AU, since the Mansion/Raccoon outbreak should be the first one of such scale. **

**That being said, here's a small preview of what's coming up next...**

**clara pacta, boni amici**  
_clear friends, good agreements_  
Premansion. It's one of those undercover, never-taking-place missions. And when it goes wrong, Chris and Jill find themselves alone in a mad race against time to rescue their teammates, secure the subject and follow through with the assignment. Before people start losing their heads.


End file.
